UN1V: 

Li: 
i£>s  anc?£»- 


€nglt0t)   Jtten  of  Cetters 

EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY 


ROBERT   BURNS 


IRobert  Burns 


by 


JOHN    CAMPBELL    SHAIRP 

AUTHOR  OF 

"STUDIES  IN   POETRY  AND  PHILOSOPHY" 
"  CULTURE  AND   RELIGION  " 


Englisb  /IDen  ot  Xetters 

EDITED  BY 

JOHN    MORLEY 


0,1  »      o 

- 


•         O       t     O 


HARPER   &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 

1902 


»  n 


t  ■  < 


*-•• 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  page 

Youth  in  Ayrshire 1 

CHAPTER  H. 
First  Winter  in  Edinburgh    ......-•    42 

CHAPTER  III. 
Border  and  Highland  Tours 60 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Second  Winter  in  Edinburgh 79 

CHAPTER  V. 
Life  at  Ellisland ^4 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Migration  to  Dumfries 134 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Last  Years •  153 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Character,  Poems,  Songs •        186 

26 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

YOUTH    IN    AYRSHIRE. 

Great  men,  great  events,  great  epochs,  it  has  been  said, 
grow  as  we  recede  from  them ;  and  the  rate  at  which  they 
grow  in  the  estimation  of  men  is  in  some  sort  a  measure 
of  their  greatness.  Tried  by  this  standard,  Burns  must 
be  great  indeed ;  for,  during  the  eighty  years  that  have 
passed  since  his  death,  men's  interest  in  the  man  himself 
and  their  estimate  of  his  genius  have  been  steadily  in- 
creasing. Each  decade  since  he  died  has  produced  at  least 
two  biographies  of  him.  When  Mr.  Carlyle  wrote  his  well- 
known  essay  on  Burns  in  1828,  he  could  already  number 
six  biographies  of  the  Poet,  which  had  been  given  to  the 
world  during  the  previous  thirty  years;  and  the  interval 
between  1828  and  the  present  day  has  added,  in  at  least 
the  same  proportion,  to  their  number.  What  it  was  in  the 
man  and  in  his  circumstances  that  has  attracted  so  much 
of  the  world's  interest  to  Burns,  I  must  make  one  more 
attempt  to  describe. 

If  success  were  that  which  most  secures  men's  sympathy, 
Burns  would  have  won  but  little  regard ;  for  in  all  but  his 


2  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

poetry  his  was  a  defeated  life — sad  and  heart-depressing  to 
contemplate  beyond  the  lives  even  of  most  poets. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  the  very  fact  that  in  him  so  much 
failure  and  shipwreck  were  combined  with  such  splendid 
gifts,  that  has  attracted  to  him  so  deep  and  compassionate 
interest.  Let  us  review  once  more  the  facts  of  that  life, 
and  tell  again  its  oft-told  story. 

It  was  on  the  25th  of  January,  1759,  about  two  miles 
from  the  town  of  Ayr,  in  a  clay -built  cottage,  reared  by 
his  father's  own  hands,  that  Robert  Burns  was  born.  The 
"  auld  clay  bigging  "  which  saw  his  birth  still  stands  by 
the  side  of  the  road  that  leads  from  Ayr  to  the  river  and 
the  bridge  of  Doom  Between  the  banks  of  that  romantic 
stream  and  the  cottage  is  seen  the  roofless  ruin  of  "Allo- 
way's  auld  haunted  kirk,"  which  Tarn  o'  Shanter  has  made 
famous.  His  first  welcome  to  the  world  was  a  rough  one. 
As  he  himself  says — 

"  A  blast  o'  Jan  war'  win' 

Blew  hansel  in  on  Robin." 

A  few  days  after  his  birth,  a  storm  blew  down  the  gable 
of  the  cottage,  and  the  poet  and  his  mother  were  carried 
in  the  dark  morning  to  the  shelter  of  a  neighbour's  roof, 
under  which  they  remained  till  their  own  home  was  re- 
paired. In  after-years  he  would  often  say,  "  No  wonder 
that  one  ushered  into  the  world  amid  such  a  tempest 
should  be  the  victim  of  stormy  passions."  "  It  is  hard  to 
be  born  in  Scotland,"  says  the  brilliant  Parisian.  Burns 
had  many  hardships  to  endure,  but  he  never  reckoned  this 
to  be  one  of  them. 

His  father,  William  Burness  or  Burnes,  for  so  he  spelt 
his  name,  was  a  native  not  of  Ayrshire,  but  of  Kincardine- 
shire, where  he  had  been  reared  on  a  farm  belonging  to  the 


i.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  3 

forfeited  estate  of  the  noble  but  attainted  house  of  Keith- 
Marischal.  Forced  to  migrate  thence  at  the  age  of  nine- 
teen, he  had  travelled  to  Edinburgh,  and  finally  settled  in 
Ayrshire,  and  at  the  time  when  Robert,  his  eldest  child, 
was  born,  he  rented  seven  acres  of  land,  near  the  Brig  o' 
Doon,  which  he  cultivated  as  a  nursery -garden.  He  was  a 
man  of  strict,  even  stubborn  integrity,  and  of  strong  tem- 
per— a  combination  which,  as  his  son  remarks,  does  not 
usually  lead  to  worldly  success.  But  his  chief  character- 
istic was  his  deep-seated  and  thoughtful  piety.  A  peasant- 
saint  of  the  old  Scottish  stamp,  he  yet  tempered  the  stern 
Calvinism  of  the  West  with  the  milder  Arminianism  more 
common  in  his  northern  birthplace.  Robert,  who,  amid 
all  his  after-errors,  never  ceased  to  revere  his  father's  mem- 
ory, has  left  an  immortal  portrait  of  him  in  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night,  when  he  describes  how 

"  The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays." 

William  Burness  was  advanced  in  years  before  he  mar- 
ried, and  his  wife,  Agnes  Blown,  was  much  younger  than 
himself.  She  is  described  as  an  Ayrshire  lass,  of  humble 
birth,  very  sagacious,  with  bright  eyes  and  intelligent  looks, 
but  not  beautiful,  of  good  manners  and  easy  address.  Like 
her  husband,  she  was  sincerely  religious,  but  of  a  more 
equable  temper,  quick  to  perceive  character,  and  with  a 
memory  stored  with  old  traditions,  songs,  and  ballads, 
which  she  told  or  sang  to  amuse  her  children.  In  his 
outer  man  the  poet  resembled  his  mother,  but  bis  great 
mental  gifts,  if  inherited  at  all,  must  be  traced  to  his  father. 

Three  places  in  Ayrshire,  besides  his  birthplace,  will  al- 
ways be  remembered  as  the  successive  homes  of  Burns. 
These  were  Mount  Oliphant,  Lochlea  (pronounced  Lochia), 
and  Mossgiel. 


4  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

Mount  Oliphant. — This  was  a  small  upland  farm, 
about  two  miles  from  the  Brig  o'  Doon,  of  a  poor  and 
hungry  soil,  belonging  to  Mr.  Ferguson,  of  Doon-holm, 
who  was  also  the  landlord  of  William  Burness'  previous 
holding.  Robert  was  in  his  seventh  year  when  his  father 
entered  on  this  farm  at  Whitsuntide,  1766,  and  he  had 
reached  his  eighteenth  when  the  lease  came  to  a  close  in 
1777.  All  the  years  between  these  two  dates  were  to  the 
family  of  Burness  one  long  sore  battle  with  untoward  cir- 
cumstances, ending  in  defeat.  If  the  hardest  toil  and  se- 
vere self  -  denial  could  have  procured  success,  they  would 
not  have  failed.  It  was  this  period  of  his  life  which  Rob- 
ert afterwards  described,  as  combining  "  the  cheerless  gloom 
of  a  hermit  with  the  unceasing  moil  of  galley-slave."  The 
family  did  their  best,  but  a  niggard  soil  and  bad  seasons 
were  too  much  for  them.  At  length,  on  the  death  of  his 
landlord,  who  had  always  dealt  generously  by  him,  Wil- 
liam Burness  fell  into  the  grip  of  a  factor,  whose  tender 
mercies  were  hard.  This  man  wrote  letters  which  set  the 
whole  family  in  tears.  The  poet  has  not  given  his  name, 
but  he  has  preserved  his  portrait  in  colours  which  are 
indelible : 

"  I've  noticed,  on  our  Laird's  court-day, 
An'  mony  a  time  my  heart's  been  wae, 
Poor  tenant  bodies,  scant  o'  cash, 
How  they  maun  thole  a  factor's  snash  ; 
He'll  stamp  an'  threaten,  curse  and  swear, 
He'll  apprehend  them,  poind  their  gear, 
While  they  maun  stan',  wi  aspect  humble, 
And  hear  it  a',  an'  fear  an'  tremble." 

In  his  autobiographical  sketch  the  poet  tells  us  that, 
"  The  farm  proved  a  ruinous  bargain.  I  was  the  eldest  of 
seven  children,  and  my  father,  worn  out  by  early  hard- 


i.J  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  5 

ship,  was  unfit  for  labour.  His  spirit  was  soon  irritated, 
but  not  easily  broken.  There  was  a  freedom  in  the  lease 
in  two  years  more ;  and  to  weather  these  two  years  we 
retrenched  expenses,  and  toiled  on."  Robert  and  Gilbert, 
the  two  eldest,  though  still  boys,  had  to  do  each  a  grown 
man's  full  work.  Yet,  for  all  their  hardships,  these  Mount 
Oliphant  days  were  not  without  alleviations.  If  poverty 
was  at  the  door,  there  was  warm  family  affection  by  the 
fireside.  If  the  two  sons  had,  long  before  manhood,  to 
bear  toil  beyond  their  years,  still  they  were  living  under 
their  parents'  roof,  and  those  parents  two  of  the  wisest 
and  best  of  Scotland's  peasantry.  Work  was  no  doubt  in- 
cessant, but  education  was  not  neglected  —  rather  it  was 
held  one  of  the  most  sacred  duties.  When  Robert  was 
five  years  old,  he  had  been  sent  to  a  school  at  Alloway  Mill ; 
and  when  the  family  removed  to  Mount  Oliphant,  his  fa- 
ther combined  with  four  of  his  neighbours  to  hire  a  young 
teacher,  who  boarded  among  them,  and  taught  their  chil- 
dren for  a  small  salary.  This  young  teacher,  whose  name 
was  Murdoch,  has  left  an  interesting  description  of  his 
two  young  pupils,  their  parents,  and  the  household  life 
while  he  sojourned  at  Mount  Oliphant.  At  that  time 
Murdoch  thought  that  Gilbert  possessed  a  livelier  imagina- 
tion, and  was  more  of  a  wit  than  Robert.  "All  the  mirth 
and  liveliness,"  he  says,  "  were  with  Gilbert.  Robert's 
countenance  at  that  time  wore  generally  a  grave  and 
thoughtful  look."  Had  their  teacher  been  then  told  that 
one  of  his  two  pupils  would  become  a  great  poet,  he  would 
have  fixed  on  Gilbert.  When  he  tried  to  teach  them 
church  music  along  with  other  rustic  lads,  they  two  lagged 
far  behind  the  rest.  Robert's  voice  especially  was  untune- 
able,  and  his  ear  so  dull  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he 
could  distinguish  one  tune  from  another.    Yet  this  was  he 


6  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

who  was  to  become  the  greatest  song-writer  that  Scotland 
— perhaps  the  world — has  known.  In  other  respects  the 
mental  traininc;  of  the  lads  was  of  the  most  thorough 
kind.  Murdoch  taught  them  not  only  to  read,  but  to 
parse,  and  to  give  the  exact  meaning  of  the  words,  to  turn 
verse  into  the  prose  order,  to  supply  ellipses,  and  to  sub- 
stitute plain  for  poetic  words  and  phrases.  How  many  of 
our  modern  village  schools  even  attempt  as  much !  When 
Murdoch  gave  up,  the  father  himself  undertook  the  educa- 
tion of  his  children,  and  carried  it  on  at  night  after  work- 
hours  were  over.  Of  that  father  Murdoch  speaks  as  by 
far  the  best  man  he  ever  knew.  Tender  and  affectionate 
towards  his  children  he  describes  him,  seeking  not  to  drive, 
but  to  lead  them  to  the  right,  by  appealing  to  their  con- 
science and  their  better  feelings,  rather  than  to  their  fears. 
To  his  wife  he  was  gentle  and  considerate  in  an  unusual 
degree,  always  thinking  of  her  ease  and  comfort ;  and  she 
repaid  it  with  the  utmost  reverence.  She  was  a  careful 
and  thrifty  housewife ;  but,  whenever  her  domestic  tasks 
allowed,  she  would  return  to  hang  with  devout  attention 
on  the  discourse  that  fell  from  her  wise  husband.  Under 
that  father's  guidance  knowledge  was  sought  for  as  hid 
treasure,  and  this  search  was  based  on  the  old  and  rever- 
ential faith  that  increase  of  knowledge  is  increase  of  wis- 
dom and  goodness.  The  readings  of  the  household  were 
wide,  varied,  and  unceasing.  Some  one  entering  the  house 
at  meal-time  found  the  whole  family  seated,  each  with  a 
spoon  in  one  hand  and  a  book  in  the  other.  The  books 
which  Burns  mentions  as  forming  part  of  their  reading  at 
Mount  Oliphant  surprise  us  even  now.  Not  only  the  or- 
dinary school-books  and  geographies,  not  only  the  tradi- 
tional life  of  Wallace,  and  other  popular  books  of  that  sort, 
but  The  Spectator,  odd  plays  of  Shakespeare,  Pope  (his 


i.J  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  7 

Homer  included),  Locke  on  the  Human  Understanding, 
Boyle's  Lectures,  Taylor's  Scripture  Doctrine  of  Original 
Sin,  Allan  Ramsay's  works,  formed  the  staple  of  their 
reading.  Above  all  there  was  a  collection  of  songs,  of 
which  Burns  says,  "  This  was  my  vade  mecum.  I  pored 
over  them  driving  my  cart,  or  walking  to  labour,  song  by 
song,  verse  by  verse ;  carefully  noting  the  true,  tender,  or 
sublime,  from  affectation  and  fustian.  I  am  convinced  I 
owe  to  this  practice  much  of  my  critic-craft,  such  as  it  is  I" 
And  he  could  not  have  learnt  it  in  a  better  way. 

There  are  few  countries  in  the  world  which  could  at 
that  time  have  produced  in  humble  life  such  a  teacher  as 
Murdoch  and  such  a  father  as  William  Burness.  It  seems 
fitting,  then,  that  a  country  which  could  rear  such  men 
among  its  peasantry  should  give  birth  to  such  a  poet  as 
Robert  Burns  to  represent  them.  The  books  which  fed  his 
young  intellect  were  devoured  only  during  intervals  snatch- 
ed from  hard  toil.  That  toil  was  no  doubt  excessive.  And 
this  early  overstrain  showed  itself  soon  in  the  stoop  of 
his  shoulders,  in  nervous  disorder  about  the  heart,  and  in 
frequent  fits  of  despondency.  Yet  perhaps  too  much  has 
sometimes  been  made  of  these  bodily  hardships,  as  though 
Burns's  boyhood  had  been  one  long  misery.  But  the 
youth  which  grew  up  in  so  kindly  an  atmosphere  of  wis- 
dom and  home  affection,  under  the  eye  of  such  a  father 
and  mother,  cannot  be  called  unblest. 

Under  the  pressure  of  toil  and  the  entire  want  of  so- 
ciety, Burns  might  have  grown  up  the  rude  and  clownish 
and  unpopular  lad  that  he  has  been  pictured  in  his  early 
teens.  But  in  his  fifteenth  summer  there  came  to  him  a 
new  influence,  which  at  one  touch  unlocked  the  springs  of 
new  emotions.  This  incident  must  be  given  in  his  own 
words :  "  You  know,"  he  says,  "  our  country  custom  of 


8  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

coupling  a  man  and  woman  together  as  partners  in  the  la- 
bours of  the  harvest.  In  my  fifteenth  summer  my  partner 
was  a  bewitching  creature,  a  year  younger  than  myself. 
My  scarcity  of  English  denies  me  the  power  of  doing  her 
justice  in  that  language,  but  you  know  the  Scottish  idiom. 
She  was  a  bonnie,  sweet,  sonsie  lass.  In  short,  she,  alto- 
gether unwittingly  to  herself,  initiated  me  in  that  delicious 
passion,  which,  in  spite  of  acid  disappointment,  gin-horse 
prudence,  and  book -worm  philosophy,  I  hold  to  be  the 
first  of  human  joys  here  below  !  How  she  caught  the 
contagion  I  cannot  tell.  .  .  .  Indeed,  I  did  not  know 
myself  why  I  liked  so  much  to  loiter  behind  with  her, 
when  returning  in  the  evening  from  our  labours ;  why  the 
tones  of  her  voice  made  my  heartstrings  thrill  like  an 
^Eolian  harp ;  and  especially  why  my  pulse  beat  such  a 
furious  ratan  when  I  looked  and  fingered  over  her  little 
hand,  to  pick  out  the  cruel  nettle  -  stings  and  thistles. 
Among  her  love-inspiring  qualities,  she  sung  sweetly  ;  and 
it  was  her  favourite  reel  to  which  I  attempted  giving  an 
embodied  vehicle  in  rhyme.  I  was  not  so  presumptuous 
as  to  imagine  that  I  could  make  verses  like  printed  ones, 
composed  by  men  who  read  Greek  and  Latin;  but  my 
girl  sung  a  song  which  was  said  to  be  composed  by  a 
country  laird's  son,  on  one  of  his  father's  maids,  with 
whom  he  was  in  love ;  and  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  might 
not  rhyme  as  well  as  he ;  for,  excepting  that  he  could 
shear  sheep  and  cast  peats,  his  father  living  in  the  moor- 
lands, he  had  no  more  scholar-craft  than  myself.  Thus 
with  me  began  love  and  poetry." 

The  song  he  then  composed  is  entitled  "Handsome 
Nell,"  and  is  the  first  he  ever  wrote.  He  himself  speaks 
of  it  as  very  puerile  and  silly — a  verdict  which  Chambers 
endorses,  but  iu  which  1  cannot  agree.     Simple  and  artless 


l]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  9 

it  no  doubt  is,  but  with  a  touch  of  that  grace  which  be- 
speaks the  true  poet.  Here  is  one  verse  which,  for  direct- 
ness of  feeling  and  felicity  of  language,  he  hardly  ever 
surpassed : 

"  She  dresses  aye  sae  clean  and  neat, 
Baith  decent  and  genteel, 
And  then  there's  something  in  her  gait 
Gars  ony  dress  look  weel." 

"  I  composed  it,"  says  Burns,  "  in  a  wild  enthusiasm  of 
passion,  and  to  this  hour  I  never  recollect  it  but  my  heart 
melts,  my  blood  sallies  at  the  remembrance." 

Lochlea. — Escaped  from  the  fangs  of  the  factor,  with 
some  remnant  of  means,  "William  Burness  removed  from 
Mount  Oliphant  to  Lochlea,  in  the  parish  of  Tarbolton 
(1777) ;  an  upland,  undulating  farm,  on  the  north  bank  of 
the  River  Ayr,  with  a  wide  outlook,  southward  over  the 
hills  of  Carrick,  westward  toward  the  Isle  of  Arran,  Ailsa 
Craig,  and  down  the  Firth  of  Clyde,  toward  the  Western 
Sea.  This  was  the  home  of  Burns  and  his  family  from 
his  eighteenth  till  his  twentv-fifth  vear.  For  a  time  the 
family  life  here  was  more  comfortable  than  before,  proba- 
bly because  several  of  the  children  were  now  able  to  assist 
their  parents  in  farm  labour.  "  These  seven  years,"  says 
Gilbert  Burns,  "brought  small  literary  improvement  to 
Robert" — but  I  can  hardly  believe  this,  when  we  remember 
that  Lochlea  saw  the  composition  of  The  Death  and  Dying 
Words  of  Poor  Mailie,  and  of  My  Nannie,  0,  and  one  or 
two  more  of  his  most  popular  songs.  It  was  during  those 
days  that  Robert,  then  growing  into  manhood,  first  vent- 
ured to  step  beyond  the  range  of  his  father's  control,  and 
to  trust  the  promptings  of  his  own  social  instincts  and 
headlong  passions.  The  first  step  in  this  direction  was  to 
go  to  a  dancing-school,  in  a  neighbouring  village,  that  he 


10  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

might  there  meet  companions  of  either  sex,  and  give  his 
rustic  manners  "  a  brush,"  as  he  phrases  it.  The  next 
step  was  taken  when  Burns  resolved  to  spend  his  nine- 
teenth summer  in  Kirkoswald,  to  learn  mensuration  and 
surveying  from  the  schoolmaster  there,  who  was  famous 
as  a  teacher  of  these  things.  Kirkoswald,  on  the  Carrick 
coast,  was  a  village  full  of  smugglers  and  adventurers,  in 
whose  society  Burns  was  introduced  to  scenes  of  what  he 
calls  "swaggering  riot  and  roaring  dissipation."  It  may 
readily  he  believed  that,  with  his  strong  love  of  sociality 
and  excitement,  he  was  an  apt  pupil  in  that  school.  Still 
the  mensuration  went  on,  till  one  day,  when  in  the  kail- 
yard behind  the  teacher's  house,  Burns  met  a  young  lass, 
who  set  his  heart  on  fire,  and  put  an  end  to  mensuration. 
This  incident  is  celebrated  in  the  song  beginning — 

"  Now  westlin  winds  and  slaughtering  guns 
Bring  autumn's  pleasant  weather  " — 

"  the  ebullition,"  he  calls  it,  "  of  that  passion  which  ended 
the  school  business  at  Kirkoswald." 

From  this  time  on  for  several  years,  love-making  was 
his  chief  amusement,  or  rather  his  most  serious  business. 
His  brother  tells  us  that  he  was  in  the  secret  of  half  the 
love  affairs  of  the  parish  of  Tarbolton,  and  was  never  with- 
out at  least  one  of  his  own.  There  was  not  a  comely  girl 
in  Tarbolton  on  whom  he  did  not  compose  a  song,  and 
then  he  made  one  which  included  them  all.  When  he 
was  thus  inly  moved,  "  the  agitations  of  his  mind  and 
body,"  says  Gilbert,  "  exceeded  anything  of  the  kind  I 
ever  knew  in  real  life.  He  had  always  a  particular  jeal- 
ousy of  people  who  were  richer  than  himself,  or  had  more 
consequence.  His  love,  therefore,  rarely  settled  on  persons 
of  this  description."     The  jealousy  here  noted,  as  extend- 


i.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  11 

ing  even  to  his  loves,  was  one  of  the  weakest  points  of  the 
poet's  character.  Of  the  ditties  of  that  time,  most  of 
which  have  been  preserved,  the  best  specimen  is  My  Nan- 
nie, 0.  This  song,  and  the  one  entitled  Mary  Morison, 
render  the  whole  scenery  and  sentiment  of  those  rural 
meetings  in  a  manner  at  once  graphic  and  free  from 
coarseness.  Yet,  truth  to  speak,  it  must  be  said  that 
those  gloamin'  trysts,  however  they  may  touch  the  imagi- 
nation and  lend  themselves  to  song,  do  in  reality  lie  at 
the  root  of  much  that  degrades  the  life  and  habits  of  the 
Scottish  peasantry. 

But  those  first  three  or  four  years  at  Lochlea,  if  not  free 
from  peril,  were  still  with  the  poet  times  of  innocence. 
His  brother  Gilbert,  in  the  words  of  Chambers,  "  used  to 
speak  of  his  brother  as  at  this  period,  to  himself,  a  more 
admirable  being  than  at  any  other.  He  recalled  with  de- 
light the  days  when  they  had  to  go  with  one  or  two  com- 
panions to  cut  peats  for  the  winter  fuel ;  because  Kobert 
was  sure  to  enliven  their  toil  with  a  rattling  fire  of  witty 
remarks  on  men  and  things,  mingled  with  the  expressions 
of  a  genial,  glowing  heart,  and  the  whole  perfectly  free 
from  the  taint  which  he  afterwards  acquired  from  his  con- 
tact with  the  world.  Not  even  in  those  volumes  which 
afterwards  charmed  his  country  from  end  to  end,  did  Gil- 
bert see  his  brother  in  so  interesting  a  light  as  in  these 
conversations  in  the  bog,  with  only  two  or  three  noteless 
peasants  for  an  audience." 

While  Gilbert  acknowledges  that  his  brother's  love- 
makings  were  at  this  time  unceasing,  he  asserts  that  they 
were  "governed  by  the  strictest  rules  of  virtue  and  mod- 
esty, from  which  he  never  deviated  till  he  reached  his 
twenty-third  year."  It  was  towards  the  close  of  his  twen- 
ty-second that  there  occurs  the  record  of  his  first  serious 


12  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chat. 

desire  to  marry  and  settle  in  life.  He  had  set  his  affec- 
tions on  a  young  woman  named  Ellison  Begbie,  daughter 
of  a  small  farmer,  and  at  that  time  servant  in  a  family  on 
Cessnock  Water,  about  two  miles  from  Lochlea.  She  is 
said  to  have  been  not  a  beauty,  but  of  unusual  liveliness 
and  grace  of  mind.  Long  afterwards,  when  he  had  seen 
much  of  the  world,  Burns  spoke  of  this  young  woman  as, 
of  all  those  on  whom  he  ever  fixed  his  fickle  affections,  the 
o«e  most  likely  to  have  made  a  pleasant  partner  for  life. 
Four  letters  which  he  wrote  to  her  are  preserved,  in  which 
he  expresses  the  most  pure  and  honourable  feelings  in  lan- 
guage which,  if  a  little  formal,  is,  for  manliness  and  sim- 
plicity, a  striking  contrast  to  the  bombast  of  some  of  his 
later  epistles.  Songs,  too,  he  addressed  to  her — The  Lass 
of  Cessnock  Banks,  Bonnie  Peggy  Alison,  and  Mary  Mori- 
son.  The  two  former  are  inconsiderable ;  the  latter  is  one 
of  those  pure  and  beautiful  love-lyrics,  in  the  manner  of 
the  old  ballads,  which,  as  Hazlitt  says,  "  take  the  deepest 
and  most  lasting  hold  on  the  mind." 

"  Yestreen,  when  to  the  trembling  string, 

The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha', 
To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 

I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw : 
Tho'  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw, 

And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 
I  sigh'd,  and  said  amang  them  a', 

'  Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison.' " 

"  Oh,  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 

Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die ; 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his, 

Whase  only  f aut  is  loving  thee  ? 
If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gie, 

At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown  ; 


i.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  13 

A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 
The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison." 

In  these  lines  the  lyric  genius  of  Burns  was  for  the  first 
time  undeniably  revealed. 

But  neither  letters  nor  love -songs  prevailed.  The 
young  woman,  for  some  reason  untold,  was  deaf  to  his 
entreaties;  and  the  rejection  of  this  his  best  affection  fell 
on  him  with  a  malign  influence,  just  as  he  was  setting  his 
face  to  learn  a  trade  which  he  hoped  would  enable  him  to 
maintain  a  wife. 

Irvine  was  at  that  time  a  centre  of  the  flax-dressing  art, 
a»d  as  Robert  and  his  brother  raised  flax  on  their  farm, 
they  hoped  that  if  they  could  dress  as  well  as  grow  flax, 
they  might  thereby  double  their  profits.  As  he  met  with 
this  heavy  disappointment  in  love  just  as  he  was  setting 
out  for  Irvine,  he  went  thither  down-hearted  and  depress- 
ed, at  Midsummer,  1781.  All  who  met  him  at  that  time 
were  struck  with  his  look  of  melancholy,  and  his  moody 
silence,  from  which  he  roused  himself  only  when  in  pleas- 
ant female  society,  or  when  he  met  with  men  o£  intelli- 
gence. But  the  persons  of  this  sort  wThom  he  met  in  Ir- 
vine were  probably  few.  More  numerous  were  the  smug- 
glers and  rough-living  adventurers  with  which  that  seaport 
town,  as  Kirkoswald,  swarmed.  Among  these  he  con- 
tracted, says  Gilbert,  "  some  acquaintance  of  a  freer  man- 
ner of  thinking  and  living  than  he  had  been  used  to, 
whose  society  prepared  him  for  overleaping  the  bonds  of 
ricjid  virtue  which  had  hitherto  restrained  him."  One 
companion,  a  sailor-lad  of  wild  life  and  loose  and  irregu- 
lar habits,  had  a  wonderful  fascination  for  Burns,  who  ad- 
mired him  for  what  he  thought  his  independence  and 
magnanimity.  "  He  was,"  says  Burns,  "  the  only  man  I 
ever  knew  who  was  a  greater  fool  than  myself,  where 


14  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

woman  was  the  presiding  star;  but  he  spoke  of  lawless 
love  with  levity,  which  hitherto  I  had  regarded  with  hor- 
ror.    Here  his  friendship  did  me  a  mischief.''1 

Another  companion,  older  than  himself,  thinking  that 
the  religious  views  of  Burns  were  too  rigid  and  uncompro- 
mising, induced  him  to  adopt  "more  liberal  opinions," 
which  in  this  case,  as  in  so  many  others,  meant  more  lax 
opinions.  With  his  principles  of  belief,  and  his  rules  of 
conduct  at  once  assailed  and  undermined,  what  chart  or 
compass  remained  any  more  for  a  passionate  being  like 
Burns  over  the  passion  -  swept  sea  of  life  that  lay  before 
him  ?  The  migration  to  Irvine  was  to  him  the  descent  to 
Avernus,  from  which  he  never  afterwards,  in  the  actual 
conduct  of  life,  however  often  in  his  hours  of  inspiration, 
escaped  to  breathe  again  the  pure  upper  air.  This  brief 
but  disastrous  Irvine  sojourn  was  brought  to  a  sudden 
close.  Burns  was  robbed  by  his  partner  in  trade,  his  flax- 
dressing  shop  was  burnt  to  the  ground  by  fire  during  the 
carousal  of  a  New -Year's  morning,  and  himself,  impaired 
in  purse,  in  spirits,  and  in  character,  returned  to  Lochlea 
to  find  misfortunes  thickening  round  his  family,  and  his 
father  on  his  death-bed.  For  the  old  man,  his  long  strug- 
gle with  scanty  means,  barren  soil,  and  bad  seasons,  was 
now  near  its  close.  Consumption  had  set  in.  Early  in 
1784,  when  his  last  hour  drew  on,  the  father  said  that 
there  was  one  of  his  children  of  whose  future  he  could  not 
think  without  fear.  Robert,  who  was  in  the  room,  came 
up  to  his  bedside  and  asked,  "  O  father,  is  it  me  you 
mean  ?"  The  old  man  said  it  was.  Robert  turned  to  the 
window,  with  tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks,  and  his 
bosom  swelling,  from  the  restraint  he  put  on  himself,  al- 
most to  bursting.  The  father  had  early  perceived  the  gen- 
ius that  was  in  his  boy,  and  even  in  Mount  Olipbant  days 


i.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  15 

had  said  to  his  wife,  "  Whoever  lives  to  see  it,  something 
extraordinary  will  come  from  that  boy."  He  had  lived  to 
see  and  admire  his  son's  earliest  poetic  efforts.  But  he 
had  also  noted  the  strong  passions,  with  the  weak  will, 
which  might  drive  him  on  the  shoals  of  life. 

Mossgiel. — Towards  the  close  of  1783,  Robert  and  his 
brother,  seeing  clearly  the  crash  of  family  affairs  which 
was  impending,  had  taken  on  their  own  account  a  lease  of 
the  small  farm  of  Mossgiel,  about  two  or  three  miles  dis- 
tant from  Lochlea,  in  the  parish  of  Mauchline.  When 
their  father  died  in  February,  1784,  it  was  only  by  claim- 
ing the  arrears  of  wages  due  to  them,  and  ranking  among 
their  father's  creditors,  that  they  saved  enough  from  the 
domestic  wreck  to  stock  their  new  farm.  Tbither  they 
conveyed  their  widowed  mother,  and  their  younger  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  in  March,  1784.  Their  new  home  was  a 
bare,  upland  farm,  118  acres  of  cold  clay  soil,  lying  within 
a  mile  of  Mauchline  village.  Burns  entered  on  it  with  a 
firm  resolution  to  be  prudent,  industrious,  and  thrifty.  In 
his  own  words,  "  I  read  farming  books,  I  calculated  crops, 
I  attended  markets,  and,  in  short,  in  spite  of  the  devil,  the 
world,  and  the  flesh,  I  should  have  been  a  wise  man ;  but 
the  first  year,  from  unfortunately  buying  bad  seed  —  the 
second,  from  a  late  harvest,  we  lost  half  our  crops.  This 
overset  all  my  wisdom,  and  I  returned  like  the  dog  to  his 
vomit,  and  the  sow  that  was  washed  to  her  wallowing  in 
the  mire."  Burns  was  in  the  beginning  of  his  twenty- 
sixth  year  when  he  took  up  his  abode  at  Mossgiel,  where 
he  remained  for  four  years.  Three  things  those  years  and 
that  bare  moorland  farm  witnessed  —  the  wreck  of  his 
hopes  as  a  farmer,  the  revelation  of  his  genius  as  a  poet, 
and  the  frailty  of  his  character  as  a  man.  The  result  of 
the  immoral  habits  and  "  liberal  opinions "  which  he  had 
27 


16  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

learnt  at  Irvine  were  soon  apparent  in  that  event  of  which 
he  speaks  in  his  Epistle  to  John  Hank  hie  with  such  unbe- 
coming levity.  In  the  Chronological  Edition  of  his  works 
it  is  painful  to  read  on  one  page  the  pathetic  lines  which 
he  engraved  on  his  father's  headstone,  and  a  few  pages  on, 
written  almost  at  the  same  time,  the  epistle  above  alluded 
to,  and  other  poems  in  the  same  strain,  in  which  the  de- 
fiant poet  glories  in  his  shame.  It  was  well  for  the  old 
man  that  he  was  laid  in  Alloway  Kirkyard  before  these 
things  befell.  But  the  widowed  mother  had  to  bear  the 
burden,  and  to  receive  in  her  home  and  bring  up  the  child 
that  should  not  have  been  born.  When  silence  and  shame 
would  have  most  become  him,  Burns  poured  forth  his  feel- 
ings in  ribald  verses,  and  bitterly  satirized  the  parish  min- 
ister, who  required  him  to  undergo  that  public  penance 
which  the  discipline  of  the  Church  at  that  time  exacted. 
Whether  this  was  a  wise  discipline  or  not,  no  blame  at- 
tached to  the  minister,  who  merely  carried  out  the  rules 
which  his  Church  enjoined.  It  was  no  proof  of  magna- 
nimity in  Burns  to  use  his  talent  in  reviling  the  minister, 
who  had  done  nothing  more  than  his  duty.  One  can 
hardly  doubt  but  that  in  his  inmost  heart  he  must  have 
been  visited  with  other  and  more  penitential  feelings  than 
those  unseemly  verses  express.  But,  as  Lockhart  has  well 
observed,  "  his  false  pride  recoiled  from  letting  his  jovial 
associates  know  how  little  he  was  able  to  drown  the  whis- 
pers of  the  still  small  voice  ;  and  the  fermenting  bitterness 
of  a  mind  ill  at  ease  within  himself  escaped — as  may  be 
often  traced  in  the  history  of  satirists — in  angry  sarcasms 
against  those  who,  whatever  their  private  errors  might  be, 
had  at  least  done  him  no  wrong."  Mr.  Carlyle's  comment 
on  this  crisis  of  his  life  is  too  weighty  to  be  omitted  here. 
"  With  principles  assailed  by  evil  example  from  without, 


L]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  17 

by  '  passions  raging  like  demons '  from  within,  lie  tad  lit- 
tle need  of  sceptical  misgivings  to  whisper  treason  in  the 
heat  of  the  battle,  or  to  cut  off  his  retreat  if  he  were  al- 
ready defeated.  He  loses  his  feeling  of  innocence;  his 
mind  is  at  variance  with  itself ;  the  old  divinity  no  longer 
presides  there ;  but  wild  Desires  and  wild  Repentance  al- 
ternately oppress  him.  Ere  long,  too,  he  has  committed 
himself  before  the  world ;  his  character  for  sobriety,  dear 
to  a  Scottish  peasant  as  few  corrupted  worldlings  can  even 
conceive,  is  destroyed  in  the  eyes  of  men ;  and  his  only 
refuge  consists  in  trying  to  disbelieve  his  guiltiness,  and 
is  but  a  refuge  of  lies.  The  blackest  desperation  gathers 
over  him,  broken  only  by  the  red  lightnings  of  remorse." 
Amid  this  trouble  it  was  but  a  poor  vanity  and  misera- 
ble love  of  notoriety  which  could  console  itself  with  the 

thought — 

"  The  mair  they  talk,  I'm  kent  the  better, 
E'en  let  them  clash." 

Or  was  this  not  vanity  at  all,  but  the  bitter  irony  of  self- 
reproach  ? 

This  collision  with  the  minister  and  Kirk  Session  of  his 
parish,  and  the  bitter  feelings  it  engendered  in  his  rebellious 
bosom,  at  once  launched  Burns  into  the  troubled  sea  of  re- 
ligious controversy  that  was  at  that  time  raging  all  around 
him.  The  clergy  of  the  West  were  divided  into  two  par- 
ties, known  as  the  Auld  Lights  and  the  New  Lights.  Ayr- 
shire and  the  west  of  Scotland  had  long  been  the  strong- 
hold of  Presbyterianism  and  of  the  Covenanting  spirit; 
and  in  Burns's  day — a  century  and  a  half  after  the  Cove- 
nant— a  large  number  of  the  ministers  still  adhered  to  its 
principles,  and  preached  the  Puritan  theology  undiluted. 
These  men  were  democratic  in  their  ecclesiastical  views, 
and  stout  protesters  against  Patronage,  which  has  always 

2 


18  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap 

been  the  bugbear  of  the  sects  in  Scotland.     As  Burns  ex- 
presses it,  they  did  their  best  to  stir  up  their  flocks  to 

"  Join  their  counsel  and  their  skills 
To  cowe  the  lairds, 
An'  get  the  brutes  the  power  themsels 
To  chuse  their  herds." 

All  Burns's  instincts  would  naturally  have  been  on  the 
side  of  those  who  wished  to  resist  patronage  and  "  to  cowe 
the  lairds,"  had  not  this  his  natural  tendency  been  coun- 
teracted by  a  stronger  bias  drawing  him  in  an  opposite 
direction.  The  Auld  Lights,  though  democrats  in  Church 
politics,  were  the  upholders  of  that  strict  Church  discipline 
under  which  he  was  smarting,  and  to  this  party  belonged 
his  own  minister,  who  had  brought  that  discipline  to  bear 
upon  him.  Burns,  therefore,  naturally  threw  himself  into 
the  arms  of  the  opposite,  or  New  Light  party,  who  were 
more  easy  in  their  life  and  in  their  doctrine.  This  large 
and  growing  section  of  ministers  were  deej)ly  imbued  with 
rationalism,  or,  as  they  then  called  it,  "  common-sense,"  in 
the  light  of  which  they  pared  away  from  religion  all  that 
was  mysterious  and  supernatural.  Some  of  them  were 
said  to  be  Socinians  or  even  pure  Deists,  most  of  them 
shone  less  in  the  pulpit  than  at  the  festive  board.  "With 
such  men  a  person  in  Burns's  then  state  of  mind  would 
readily  sympathize,  and  they  received  him  with  open  arms. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  unfortunate  than  that  in 
this  crisis  of  his  career  he  should  have  fallen  into  intimacy 
with  those  hard-headed  but  coarse  -  minded  men.  They 
were  the  first  persons  of  any  pretensions  to  scholarly  ed- 
ucation with  whom  he  had  mingled  freely.  He  amused 
them  with  the  sallies  of  his  wit  and  sarcasm,  and  astonish- 
ed them  by  his  keen  insight  and  vigorous  powers  of  rea- 


*•] 


YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE,  19 


soning.  They  abetted  those  very  tendencies  in  his  nat- 
ure which  required  to  be  checked.  Their  countenance,  as 
clergymen,  would  allay  the  scruples  and  misgivings  he 
mio-ht  otherwise  have  felt,  and  stimulate  to  still  wilder 
recklessness  whatever  profanity  he  might  be  tempted  to 
indulge  in.  When  he  had  let  loose  his  first  shafts  of  sat- 
ire against  their  stricter  brethren,  those  New  Light  minis- 
ters heartily  applauded  him ;  and  hounded  him  on  to  still 
more  daring  assaults.  He  had  not  only  his  own  quarrel 
with  his  parish  minister  and  the  stricter  clergy  to  revenge, 
but  the  quarrel  also  of  his  friend  and  landlord,  Gavin 
Hamilton,  a  county  lawyer,  who  had  fallen  under  Church 
censure  for  neglect  of  Church  ordinances,  and  had  been 
debarred  from  the  Communion.  Burns  espoused  Gavin's 
cause  with  characteristic  zeal,  and  let  fly  new  arrows  one 
after  another  from  his  satirical  quiver. 

The  first  of  these  satires  against  the  orthodox  ministers 
was  The  Twa  Herds,  or  the  Holy  Tulzie,  written  on  a 
quarrel  between  two  brother  clergymen.  Then  followed 
in  quick  succession  Holy  Willie's  Prayer,  The  Ordination, 
and  The  Holy  Fair.  His  good  mother  and  his  brother 
were  pained  by  these  performances,  and  remonstrated 
against  them.  But  Burns,  though  he  generally  gave  ear 
to  their  counsel,  in  this  instance  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  it, 
and  listened  to  other  advisers.  The  love  of  exercising  his 
strong  powers  of  satire  and  the  applause  of  his  boon-com- 
panions, lay  and  clerical,  prevailed  over  the  whispers  of  his 
own  better  nature  and  the  advice  of  his  truest  friends. 
Whatever  may  be  urged  in  defence  of  employing  satire 
to  lash  hypocrisy,  I  cannot  but  think  that  those  who  have 
loved  most  what  is  best  in  Burns's  poetry  must  have  re- 
gretted that  these  poems  were  ever  written.  Some  have 
commended  them  on  the  ground  that  they  have  exposed 


20  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

religious  pretence  and  Pharisaism.  The  good  they  may 
have  done  in  this  way  is  perhaps  doubtful.  But  the  harm 
they  have  done  in  Scotland  is  not  doubtful,  in  that  they 
have  connected  in  the  minds  of  the  people  so  many  coarse 
and  even  profane  thoughts  with  objects  which  they  had 
regarded  till  then  with  reverence.  Even  The  Holy  Fair, 
the  poem  in  this  kind  which  is  least  offensive,  turns  on 
the  abuses  that  then  attended  the  celebration  of  the  Holy 
Communion  in  rui'al  parishes,  and  with  great  power  por- 
trays those  gatherings  in  their  most  mundane  aspects. 
Yet,  as  Lockhart  has  well  remarked,  those  things  were 
part  of  the  same  religious  system  which  produced  the 
scenes  which  Burns  has  so  beautifully  described  in  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night.  Strange  that  the  same  mind, 
almost  at  the  same  moment,  should  have  conceived  two 
poems  so  different  in  spirit  as  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night 
and  The  Holy  Fair  ! 

I  have  dwelt  thus  long  on  these  unpleasant  satires  that 
I  may  not  have  again  to  return  to  them.  It  is  a  more 
welcome  task  to  turn  to  the  other  poems  of  the  same  pe- 
riod. Though  Burns  had  entered  on  Mossgiel  resolved  to 
do  his  best  as  a  farmer,  he  soon  discovered  that  it  was 
not  in  that  way  he  was  to  attain  success.  The  crops  of 
1*784  and  1*785  both  failed,  and  their  failure  seems  to  have 
done  something  to  drive  him  in  on  his  own  internal  re- 
sources. He  then  for  the  first  time  seems  to  have  awa- 
kened to  the  conviction  that  his  destiny  was  to  be  a  poet ; 
and  he  forthwith  set  himself,  with  more  resolution  than 
he  ever  showed  before  or  after,  to  fulfil  that  mission. 
Hitherto  he  had  complained  that  his  life  had  been  with- 
out an  aim ;  now  he  determined  that  it  should  be  so  no 
longer.  The  dawning  hope  began  to  gladden  him  that 
he  might  take  his  place  among  the  bards  of  Scotland. 


i.]  YOUTH  IN  A.YRSHDJE.  21 

who,  themselves  mostly  unknown,  have  created  that  at- 
mosphere of  minstrelsy  which  envelopes  and  glorifies  theii 
native  country.  This  hope  and  aim  is  recorded  in  an 
entry  of  his  commonplace  book,  of  the  probable  date  of 
August,  1784: 

"  However  I  am  pleased  with  the  works  of  our  Scotch 
poets,  particularly  the  excellent  Ramsay,  and  the  still  more 
excellent  Fergusson,  yet  I  am  hurt  to  see  other  places  of 
Scotland,  their  towns,  rivers,  woods,  and  haughs,  immor- 
talized in  such  celebrated  performances,  while  my  dear 
native  country  —  the  ancient  bailieries  of  Carrick,  Kyle, 
and  Cunningham,  famous  both  in  ancient  and  modern 
times  for  a  gallant  and  warlike  race  of  inhabitants — a 
country  where  civil,  and  particularly  religious  liberty,  have 
ever  found  their  first  support,  and  their  last  asylum — a 
country,  the  birthplace  of  many  famous  philosophers,  sol- 
diers, and  statesmen,  and  the  scene  of  many  important 
events  recorded  in  Scottish  history,  particularly  a  great 
many  of  the  actions  of  the  glorious  Wallace,  the  saviour 
of  his  country — yet  we  have  never  had  one  Scotch  poet 
of  any  eminence  to  make  the  fertile  banks  of  Irvine,  the 
romantic  woodlands  and  sequestered  scenes  of  Ayr,  and 
the  heathy  mountainous  source  and  winding  sweep  of 
Doon,  emulate  Tay,  Forth,  Ettrick,  Tweed.  This  is  a 
complaint  I  would  gladly  remedy ;  but,  alas !  I  am  far 
unequal  to  the  task,  both  in  native  genius  and  in  educa- 
tion. Obscure  I  am,  obscure  I  must  be,  though  no  young 
poet  nor  young  soldier's  heart  ever  beat  more  fondly  for 
fame  than  mine." 

Though  the  sentiment  here  expressed  may  seem  com- 
monplace and  the  language  hardly  grammatical,  yet  this 
extract  clearly  reveals  the  darling  ambition  that  was  now 
haunting  the    heart    of    Burns.      It   wa?   the    same   wish 


22  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

which  he  expressed  better  in  rhyme  at  a  later  day  in  his 
Epistle  to  the  Glide  Wife  of  Wauchojie  House. 

"E'en  then,  a  wish,  I  mind  its  power, 
A  wish  that  to  my  latest  hour 

Shall  strongly  heave  my  breast, 
That  I  for  poor  Auld  Scotland's  sake 
Some  usefu'  plan  or  beuk  could  make, 

Or  sing  a  sang  at  least. 
The  rough  burr-thistle,  spreading  wide 

Amang  the  bearded  bear, 
I  turn'd  the  weeder-clips  aside, 

An'  spar'd  the  symbol  dear." 

ft  was  about  his  twenty-fifth  year  when  he  first  con- 

ccived  the  hope  that  he  might  become  a  national  poet. 
The  failure  of  his  first  two  harvests,  1784  and  '85,  in 
Mossgiel,  may  well  have  strengthened  this  desire,  and 
changed  it  into  a  fixed  purpose.  If  he  was  not  to  suc- 
ceed as  a  farmer,  might  he  not  find  success  in  another  em- 
ployment that  was  much  more  to  his  mind  ? 

And  this  longing,  so  deeply  cherished,  he  had,  within 
less  than  two  years  from  the  time  that  the  above  entry  in 
his  diary  was  written,  amply  fulfilled.  From  the  autumn 
of  1*784  till  May,  1786,  the  fountains  of  poetry  were  un- 
sealed within,  and  flowed  forth  in  a  continuous  stream. 
That  period,  so  prolific  of  poetry  that  none  like  it  ever 
afterwards  visited  him,  saw  the  production  not  only  of 
the  satirical  poems  already  noticed,  and  of  another  more 
genial  satire,  Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook,  but  also  of  those 
characteristic  epistles  in  which  he  reveals  so  much  of  his 
own  character,  and  of  those  other  descriptive  poems  in 
which  he  so  wonderfully  delineates  the  habits  of  the 
Scottish  peasantry. 

Within  from  sixteen  to   eighteen  months  were   corn 


t]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  23 

posed,  not  only  seven  or  eight  long  epistles  to  rhyme-com- 
posing brothers  in  the  neighbourhood,  David  Sillar,  John 
Lapraik,  and  others,  but  also,  Halloween,  To  a  Mouse,  The 
Jolly  Beggars,  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  Address  to 
the  Bell,  The  Auld  Farmer's  Address  to  his  Auld  Mare, 
The  Vision,  The  Twa  Dogs,  The  Mountain  Daisy.  The 
descriptive  poems  above  named  followed  each  other  in 
rapid  succession  during  that  spring-time  of  his  genius, 
having  been  all  composed,  as  the  latest  edition  of  his 
works  shows,  in  a  period  of  about  six  months,  between 
November,  1785,  and  April,  1786.  Perhaps  there  are 
none  of  Burns's  compositions  which  give  the  real  man 
more  naturally  and  unreservedly  than  his  epistles.  Writ- 
ten in  the  dialect  he  had  learnt  by  his  father's  fireside,  to 
friends  in  his  own  station,  who  shared  his  own  tastes  and 
feelings,  /hey  flow  on  in  an  easy  stream  of  genial,  happy 
spirits,  in  which  kindly  humour,  wit,  love  of  the  outward 
world,  knowledge  of  men,  are  all  beautifully  intertwined 
into  one  strand  of  poetry,  unlike  anything  else  that  has 
been  seen  before  or  since!*?  The  outward  form  of  the  verse 
and  the  style  of  diction  are  no  doubt  after  the  manner  of 
his  two  forerunners  whom  he  so  much  admired,  Ramsay 
and  Fergusson ;  but  the  play  of  soul  and  power  of  ex- 
pression, the  natural  grace  with  which  they  rise  and  fall, 
the  vividness  of  every  image,  and  transparent  truthfulness 
of  every  sentiment,  are  all  his  own)  If  there  is  any  ex- 
ception to  be  made  to  this  estimate,  it  is  in  the  grudge 
which  here  and  there  peeps  out  against  those  whom  he 
thought  greater  favourites  of  fortune  than  himself  and  his 
correspondents.  But  taken  as  a  whole,  I  know  not  any 
poetic  epistles  to  be  compared  with  them.  They  are  just 
the  letters  in  which  one  friend  might  unbosom  himself  to 
another  without  the  least  artifice  or  disguise.     And  the 


24  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

broad  Doric  is  so  pithy,  so  powerful,  so  aptly  fitted  to  the 
thought,  that  not  even  Ilorace  himself  has  surpassed  it  in 
"curious  felicity."  Often  when  harvests  were  failing  and 
the  world  going  against  him,  he  found  his  solace  in  pour- 
ing forth  in  rhyme  his  feelings  to  some  trusted  friend. 
As  he  says  in  one  of  these  same  epistles — 

"  Leeze  me  on  rhyme !  it's  aye  a  treasure, 
My  chief,  amaist  my  only  pleasure, 
At  hame,  a-fiel',  at  wark,  at  leisure, 

The  Muse,  poor  hizzie ! 
Tho'  rough  an'  raploch  be  her  measure, 

She's  seldom  lazy." 

Of  the  poems  founded  on  the  customs  of  the  peasantry, 
I  shall  speak  in  the  sequel.  The  garret  in  which  all  the 
poems  of  this  period  were  written  is  thus  described  by 
Chambers :  "  The  farmhouse  of  Mossgiel,  which  still  ex- 
ists almost  unchanged  since  the  days  of  the  poet,  is  very 
small,  consisting  of  only  two  rooms,  a  but  and  a  ben,  as 
they  are  called  in  Scotland.  Over  these,  reached  by  a 
trap  stair,  is  a  small  garret,  in  which  Robert  and  his 
brother  used  to  sleep.  Thither,  when  he  had  returned 
from  his  day's  work,  the  poet  used  to  retire,  and  seat 
himself  at  a  small  deal  table,  lighted  by  a  narrow  sky- 
light in  the  roof,  to  transcribe  the  verses  which  he  had 
composed  in  the  fields.  His  favourite  time  for  composi- 
tion was  at  the  plough.  Long  years  afterwards  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Begg,  used  to  tell  how,  when  her  brother  had  gone 
forth  again  to  field-work,  she  would  steal  up  to  the  garret 
and  search  the  drawer  of  the  deal  table  for  the  verses 
which  Robert  had  newly  transcribed." 

In  which  of  the  poems  of  this  period  his  genius  is  most 
conspicuous  it  might  not  be  easy  to  determine.  But  there 
can  be  little  question  about  the  justice  of  Lockhart's  re- 


j,]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  2i. 

mark,  that  "The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  is  of  all  Burns's 
pieces  the  one  whose  exclusion  from  the  collection  would 
be  most  injurious,  if  not  to  the  genius  of  the  poet,  at 
least  to  the  character  of  the  man.  In  spite  of  many  fee- 
ble lines,  and  some  heavy  stanzas,  it  appears  to  me  that 
even  his  genius  would  suffer  more  in  estimation  by  being 
contemplated  in  the  absence  of  this  poem,  than  of  any 
other  single  poem  he  has  left  us."  Certainly  it  is  the  one 
which  has  most  endeared  his  name  to  the  more  thoughtful 
and  earnest  of  his  countrymen.  Strange  it  is,  not  to  say 
painful,  to  think  that  this  poem,  in  which  the  simple  and 
manly  piety  of  his  country  is  so  finely  touched,  and  the 
image  of  his  own  religious  father  so  beautifully  portrayed, 
should  have  come  from  the  same  hand  which  wrote  nearly 
at  the  same  time  The  Jolly  Beggars,  The  Ordination,  and 
The  Holy  Fair. 

During  those  two  years  at  Mossgiel,  from  1784  to  1786, 
when  the  times  were  hard,  and  the  farm  unproductive, 
Burns  must  indeed  have  found  poetry  to  be,  as  he  himself 
says,  its  own  reward.  A  nature  like  his  required  some 
vent  for  itself,  some  excitement  to  relieve  the  pressure  of 
dull  farm  drudgery,  and  this  was  at  once  his  purest  and 
noblest  excitement.  In  two  other  more  hazardous  forms 
of  excitement  he  was  by  temperament  disposed  to  seek  ref- 
uge. These  were  conviviality  and  love-making.  In  the 
former  of  these,  Gilbert  says  that  he  indulged  little,  if  at 
all,  during  his  Mossgiel  period.  And  this  seems  proved 
by  his  brother's  assertion  that  during  all  that  time  Eob- 
ert's  private  expenditure  never  exceeded  seven  pounds  a 
year.  When  he  had  dressed  himself  on  this,  and  procured 
his  other  necessaries,  the  margin  that  remained  for  drink- 
ing must  have  been  small  indeed.  But  love-making — that 
had  been  with  him,  ever  since  he  reached  manhood,  an  uu- 

2* 


26  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

ceasing  employment.  Even  in  his  later  teens  he  had,  as 
his  earliest  songs  show,  given  himself  enthusiastically  to 
those  nocturnal  meetings,  which  were  then  and  are  still 
customary  among  the  peasantry  of  Scotland,  and  which  at 
the  best  are  full  of  perilous  temptation.  But  ever  since 
the  time  when,  during  his  Irvine  sojourn,  he  forsook  the 
paths  of  innocence,  there  is  nothing  in  any  of  his  love-af- 
fairs which  those  who  prize  what  was  best  in  Burns  would 
not  willingly  forget.  If  here  we  allude  to  two  such  inci- 
dents, it  is  because  they  are  too  intimately  bound  up  with 
his  life  to  be  passed  over  in  any  account  of  it.  Gilbert 
says  that  while  "  one  generally  reigned  paramount  in  Rob- 
ert's affections,  he  was  frequently  encountering  other  at- 
tractions, which  formed  so  many  underplots  in  the  drama 
of  his  love."  This  is  only  too  evident  in  those  two  loves 
which  most  closely  touched  his  destiny  at  this  time. 

From  the  time  of  his  settlement  at  Mossgiel  frequent 
allusions  occur  in  his  letters  and  poems  to  flirtations  with 
the  belles  of  the  neighbouring  village  of  Mauchline. 
Among  all  these  Jean  Armour,  the  daughter  of  a  respect- 
able master-mason  in  that  village,  had  the  chief  place  in 
his  affections.  All  through  1*785  their  courtship  had  con- 
tinued, but  early  in  1786  a  secret  and  irregular  marriage, 
with  a  written  acknowledgment  of  it,  had  to  be  effected. 
Then  followed  the  father's  indignation  that  his  daughter 
should  be  married  to  so  wild  and  worthless  a  man  as 
Burns ;  compulsion  of  his  daughter  to  give  up  Burns,  and 
to  destroy  the  document  which  vouched  their  marriage ; 
Burns's  despair  driving  him  to  the  verge  of  insanity ;  the 
letting  loose  by  the  Armours  of  the  terrors  of  the  law 
against  him ;  his  skulking  for  a  time  in  concealment ;  his 
resolve  to  emigrate  to  the  West  Indies,  and  become  a 
slave-driver.     All  these  things  were  passing  in  the  spring 


!.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  27 

months  of  1786,  and  in  September  of  the  same  year  Jean 
Armour  became  the  mother  of  twin  children. 

It  would  be  well  if  we  might  believe  that  the  story  of 
his  betrothal  to  Highland  Mary  was,  as  Lockhart  seems  to 
have  thought,  previous  to  and  independent  of  the  incidents 
just  mentioned.  But  the  more  recent  investigations  of 
Mr.  Scott  Douglas  and  Dr.  Chambers  have  made  it  too 
painfully  clear  that  it  was  almost  at  the  very  time  when 
he  was  half  distracted  by  Jean  Armour's  desertion  of  him, 
and  while  he  was  writing  his  broken-hearted  Lament  over 
her  conduct,  that  there  occurred,  as  an  interlude,  the  epi- 
sode of  Mary  Campbell.  This  simple  and  sincere-hearted 
girl  from  Argyllshire  was,  Lockhart  says,  the  object  of  by 
far  the  deepest  passion  Burns  ever  knew.  And  Lockhart 
gives  at  length  the  oft-told  tale  how,  on  the  second  Sun- 
day of  May,  1786,  they  met  in  a  sequestered  spot  by  the 
banks  of  the  River  Ayr,  to  spend  one  day  of  parting  love ; 
how  they  stood,  one  on  either  side  of  a  small  brook,  laved 
their  hands  in  the  stream,  and,  holding  a  Bible  between 
them,  vowed  eternal  fidelity  to  each  other.  They  then 
parted,  never  again  to  meet.  In  October  of  the  same  year 
Mary  came  from  Argyllshire,  as  far  as  Greenock,  in  the 
hope  of  meeting  Burns,  but  she  was  there  seized  with  a 
malignant  fever  which  soon  laid  her  in  an  early  grave. 

The  Bible,  in  two  volumes,  which  Burns  gave  her  on 
that  parting  day,  has  been  recently  recovered.  On  the 
first  volume  is  inscribed,  in  Burns's  hand,  "  And  ye  shall 
not  swear  by  My  Name  falsely,  I  am  the  Lord.  Levit. 
19th  chap.  12th  verse ;"  and  on  the  second  volume,  "  Thou 
shalt  not  forswear  thyself,  but  shalt  perform  unto  the  Lord 
thine  oath.  Matth.  5th  chap.  33rd  verse."  But  the  names 
of  Mary  Campbell  and  Robert  Burns,  which  were  original- 
ly inscribed  on  the  volumes,  have  been  almost  obliterated. 


28  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

It  has  been  suggested  by  Mr.  Scott  Douglas,  the  most  re- 
cent editor  who  has  investigated  anew  the  whole  incident, 
that,  "  in  the  whirl  of  excitement  which  soon  followed  that 
Sunday,  Burns  forgot  his  vow  to  poor  Mary,  and  that  she, 
heart-sore  at  his  neglect,  deleted  the  names  from  this  touch- 
ing memorial  of  their  secret  betrothal." 

Certain  it  is  that  in  the  very  next  month,  June,  1*786, 
we  find  Burns,  in  writing  to  one  of  his  friends  about 
"  poor,  ill-advised,  ungrateful  Armour,"  declaring  that,  "  to 
confess  a  truth  between  you  and  me,  I  do  still  love  her  to 
distraction  after  all,  though  I  won't  tell  her  so  if  I  were  to 
see  her."  And  Chambers  even  suggests  that  there  was  still 
a  third  love  interwoven,  at  this  very  time,  in  the  complicated 
web  of  Burns's  fickle  affections.  Burns,  though  he  wrote 
several  poems  about  Highland  Mary,  which  afterwards  ap- 
peared, never  mentioned  her  name  to  any  of  his  family. 
Even  if  there  was  no  more  in  the  story  than  what  has 
been  here  given,  no  wonder  that  a  heart  like  Burns,  which, 
for  all  its  unsteadfastness,  never  lost  its  sensibility,  nor 
even  a  sense  of  conscience,  should  have  been  visited  by 
the  remorse  which  forms  the  burden  of  the  lyric  to  Mary 
in  heaven,  written  three  years  after. 

"  Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 
Hear'st  thou  the  pangs  that  rend  his  breast  ?" 

The  misery  of  his  condition,  about  the  time  when  High- 
land Mary  died,  and  the  conflicting  feelings  which  agitated 
him,  are  depicted  in  the  following  extract  from  a  letter 
which  he  wrote  probably  about  October,  1786,  to  his  friend 
Robert  Aiken : 

"  There  are  many  things  that  plead  strongly  against  it 
[seeking  a  place  in  the  Excise]  :  the  uncertainty  of  getting 
soon  into  business ;  the  consequences  of  my  follies,  which 


i.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  29 

perhaps  make  it  impracticable  for  me  to  stay  at  home ; 
and,  besides,  I  have  been  for  some  time  pining  under  se- 
cret wretchedness,  from  causes  which  you  pretty  well  know 
— the  pang  of  disappointment,  the  sting  of  pride,  with 
some  wandering  stabs  of  remorse,  which  never  fail  to  settle 
on  my  vitals  like  vultures  when  attention  is  not  called  away 
by  the  calls  of  society  or  the  vagaries  of  the  Muse.  Even 
in  the  hour  of  social  mirth,  my  gaiety  is  the  madness  of 
an  intoxicated  criminal  under  the  hands  of  the  executioner. 
All  these  reasons  urge  me  to  go  abroad,  and  to  all  these 
reasons  I  have  only  one  answer — the  feelings  of  a  father. 
This,  in  the  present  mood  I  am  in,  overbalances  everything 
that  can  be  laid  in  the  scale  against  it.  You  may  perhaps 
think  it  an  extravagant  fancy,  but  it  is  a  sentiment  which 
strikes  home  to  my  very  soul ;  though  sceptical  in  some 
points  of  our  current  belief,  yet  I  think  I  have  every  evi- 
dence for  the  reality  of  a  life  beyond  the  stinted  bourne 
of  our  present  existence :  if  so,  then  how  should  I,  in  the 
presence  of  that  tremendous  Being,  the  Author  of  exist- 
ence, how  should  I  meet  the  reproaches  of  those  who  stand 
to  me  in  the  dear  relation  of  children,  whom  I  deserted  in 
the  smiling  innocency  of  helpless  infancy  ?  Oh,  Thou  great 
unknown  Power !  Thou  Almighty  God !  who  hast  lighted 
up  reason  in  my  breast,  and  blessed  me  with  immortality  ! 
I  have  frequently  wandered  from  that  order  and  regularity 
necessary  for  the  perfection  of  Thy  works,  yet  Thou  hast 
never  left  me  nor  forsaken  me.  .  .  ." 

****** 
"  You  see,  sir,  that  if  to  know  one's  errors  were  a  prob- 
ability of  mending  them,  I  stand  a  fair  chance ;  but,  ac- 
cording to  the  reverend  Westminster  divines,  though  con- 
viction must  precede  conversion,  it  is  very  far  from  always 
implying  it." 


80  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

This  letter  exhibits  the  tumult  of  soul  in  which  he  had 
been  tossed  during  the  last  six  months  before  it  was  writ- 
ten. He  had  by  his  own  conduct  wound  round  himself 
complications  from  which  he  could  not  extricate  himself, 
yet  which  he  could  not  but  poignantly  feel.  One  cannot 
read  of  the  "  wandering  stabs  of  remorse "  of  which  he 
speaks,  without  thinking  of  Highland  Mary. 

Some  months  before  the  above  letter  was  written,  in  the 
April  of  the  same  year,  at  the  time  when  he  first  fell  into 
trouble  with  Jean  Armour  and  her  father,  Burns  had  re- 
solved to  leave  his  country  and  sail  for  the  West  Indies. 
He  agreed  with  a  Mr.  Douglas  to  go  to  Jamaica  and  be- 
come a  book-keeper  on  his  estate  there.  But  how  were 
funds  to  be  got  to  pay  his  passage-money?  His  friend 
Gavin  Hamilton  suggested  that  the  needed  sum  might  be 
raised,  if  he  were  to  publish  by  subscription  the  poems  he 
had  lying  in  his  table-drawer. 

Accordingly,  in  April,  the  publication  of  his  poems  was 
resolved  on.  His  friends,  Gavin  Hamilton  of  Mauchline, 
Aiken  and  Ballantyne  of  Ayr,  Muir  and  Parker  of  Kilmar- 
nock, and  others — all  did  their  best  to  get  the  subscription 
lists  quickly  filled.  The  last-named  person  put  down  his 
own  name  for  thirty-five  copies.  The  printing  of  them 
was  committed  to  John  Wilson,  a  printer  in  Kilmarnock, 
and  during  May,  June,  and  July  of  1786,  the  work  of  the 
press  was  going  forward.  In  the  interval  between  the  res- 
olution to  publish  and  the  appearance  of  the  poems,  during 
his  distraction  about  Jean  Armour's  conduct,  followed  by 
the  episode  of  Highland  Mary,  Burns  gave  vent  to  his  own 
dark  feelings  in  some  of  the  saddest  strains  that  ever  fell 
from  him — the  lines  on  The  Mountain  Daisy,  The  Lament, 
the  Odes  to  Despondency  and  to  Ruin.  And  yet  so  vari- 
ous were  his  moods,  so  versatile  his  powers,  that  it  was 


i.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  31 

during  that  same  interval  that  he  composed,  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent vein,  The  Twa  Bogs,  and  probably  also  his  satire 
of  The  Holy  Fair.  The  following  is  the  account  the  poet 
gives  of  these  transactions  in  the  autobiographical  sketch 
of  himself  which  he  communicated  to  Dr.  Moore : 

"  I  now  began  to  be  known  in  the  neighbourhood  as  a 
maker  of  rhymes.  The  first  of  my  poetic  offspring  that 
saw  light  was  a  burlesque  lamentation  of  a  quarrel  between 
two  reverend  Calvinists  ;  both  of  them  were  dramatis  per- 
sona in  my  Holy  Fair.  I  had  a  notion  myself  that  the 
piece  had  some  merit ;  but  to  prevent  the  worst,  I  gave  a 
copy  of  it  to  a  friend  who  was  fond  of  such  things,  and 
told  him  that  I  could  not  guess  who  was  the  author  of  it, 
but  that  I  thought  it  pretty  clever.  With  a  certain  de- 
scription of  the  clergy,  as  well  as  the  laity,  it  met  with  a 
roar  of  applause. 

"  Holy  Willie's  Prayer  next  made  its  appearance,  and 
alarmed  the  Kirk  Session  so  much,  that  they  held  several 
meetings  to  look  over  their  spiritual  artillery,  if  haply  any 
of  it  might  be  pointed  against  profane  rhymers.  Unluck- 
ily for  me,  my  wandering  led  me  on  another  side,  within 
point-blank  shot  of  their  heaviest  metal.  This  is  the  un- 
fortunate incident  which  gave  rise  to  my  printed  poem,  The 
Lament.  This  was  a  most  melancholy  affair,  which  I  can- 
not yet  bear  to  reflect  on,  and  had  very  nearly  given  me 
one  or  two  of  the  principal  qualifications  for  a  place  among 
those  who  have  lost  the  chart  and  mistaken  the  reckoning 
of  Rationality. 

"I  gave  up  my  part  of  the  farm  to  my  brother,  and 
made  what  little  preparation  was  in  my  power  for  Jamaica. 
But,  before  leaving  my  native  country  for  ever,  I  resolved 
to  publish  my  poems.  I  weighed  my  productions  as  im- 
partially as  was  in  my  power ;  I  thought  they  had  merit ; 
28 


32  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

and  it  was  a  delicious  idea  that  I  should  he  called  a  clever 
fellow,  even  though  it  should  never  reach  my  ears — a  poor 
negro-driver,  or  perhaps  a  victim  to  that  inhospitable  clime, 
and  gone  to  the  world  of  spirits !  I  can  truly  say,  that 
pauvre  inconnu  as  I  then  was,  I  had  pretty  nearly  as  high 
an  idea  of  my  works  as  I  have  at  this  moment,  when  the 
public  has  decided  in  their  favour.  .  .  . 

"  I  threw  off  about  six  hundred  copies,  of  which  I  got 
subscriptions  for  about  three  hundred  and  fifty.  My  van- 
ity was  highly  gratified  by  the  reception  I  met  with  from 
the  public ;  and  besides,  I  pocketed,  all  expenses  deducted, 
nearly  twenty  pounds.  This  sum  came  very  seasonably,  as 
I  was  thinking  of  indenting  myself,  for  want  of  money,  to 
procure  a  passage.  As  soon  as  I  was  master  of  nine  guin- 
eas, the  price  of  wafting  me  to  the  torrid  zone,  I  took  a 
steerage  passage  in  the  first  ship  that  was  to  sail  from  the 

Clyde,  for 

'  Hungry  ruin  had  me  in  the  wind.' 

"  I  had  been  for  some  days  skulking  from  covert  to 
covert,  under  all  the  terrors  of  a  jail,  as  some  ill-advised 
people  had  uncoupled  the  merciless  pack  of  the  law  at  my 
heels.  I  had  taken  the  last  farewell  of  my  friends ;  my 
chest  was  on  the  way  to  Greenock ;  I  had  composed  the 
last  song  I  should  ever  measure  in  Caledonia, '  The  gloomy 
night  is  gathering  fast,''  when  a  letter  from  Dr.  Blackwood 
to  a  friend  of  mine  overthrew  all  my  schemes,  by  opening 
up  new  prospects  to  my  poetic  ambition." 

It  was  at  the  close  of  July,  while  Burns  was,  according 
to  his  owrn  account,  "  wandering  from  one  friend's  house 
to  another,"  to  avoid  the  jail  with  which  he  was  threatened 
by  Jean  Armour's  father,  that  the  volume  appeared,  con- 
taining the  immortal  poems  (1786).  That  Burns  himself 
had  some  true  estimate  of  their  real  worth  is  shown  by 


I.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  33 

the  way  in  which  he  expresses  himself  in  his  preface  to 
his  volume. 

Ushered  in  with  what  Lockhart  calls  a  "modest  and 
manly  preface,"  the  Kilmarnock  volume  went  forth  to  the 
world.  The  fame  of  it  spread  at  once  like  wild-fire  through- 
out Ayrshire  and  the  parts  adjacent.  This  is  the  account 
of  its  reception  given  by  Robert  Heron,  a  young  literary 
man,  who  was  at  that  time  living  in  the  Stewartry  of  Kirk- 
cudbright : — "  Old  and  young,  high  and  low,  grave  and  gay, 
learned  or  ignorant,  were  alike  delighted,  agitated,  trans- 
ported. I  was  at  that  time  resident  in  Galloway,  contigu- 
ous to  Ayrshire,  and  I  can  well  remember  how  even  plough- 
boys  and  maid-servants  would  have  gladly  bestowed  the 
wages  they  earned  most  hardly,  and  which  they  wanted 
to  purchase  necessary  clothing,  if  they  might  procure  the 
works  of  Burns."  The  edition  consisted  of  six  hundred 
copies — three  hundred  and  fifty  had  been  subscribed  for 
before  publication,  and  the  remainder  seems  to  have  been 
sold  off  in  about  two  months  from  their  first  appearance. 
When  all  expenses  were  paid,  Burns  received  twenty 
pounds  as  his  share  of  the  profits.  Small  as  this  sum 
was,  it  would  have  more  than  sufficed  to  convey  him  to 
the  West  Indies  ;  and,  accordingly,  with  nine  pounds  of  it 
he  took  a  steerage  passage  in  a  vessel  which  was  expected 
to  sail  from  Greenock  at  the  beginning  of  September.  But 
from  one  cause  or  another  the  day  of  sailing  was  postponed, 
his  friends  began  to  talk  of  trying  to  get  him  a  place  in 
the  Excise,  his  fame  was  rapidly  widening  in  his  own  coun- 
try, and  his  powers  were  finding  a  response  in  minds  su- 
perior to  any  which  he  had  hitherto  known.  Up  to  this 
time  he  had  n:>t  associated  with  any  persons  of  a  higher 
grade  than  the  convivial  lawyers  of  Mauchline  and  Ayr, 
and  the  mundane  ministers  of  the  New  Light  school.     But 


34  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap 

now  persons  of  every  rank  were  anxious  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  the  wonderful  Ayrshire  Ploughman,  for  it 
was  by  that  name  he  now  began  to  be  known,  just  as  in 
the  next  generation  another  poet  of  as  humble  birth  was 
spoken  of  as  The  Ettrick  Shepherd.  The  first  persons  of 
a  higher  order  who  sought  the  acquaintanceship  of  Burns 
were  Dugald  Stewart  and  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop.  The 
former  of  these  two  was  the  celebrated  Scotch  metaphy- 
sician, one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of  Edinburgh  and  its 
University  at  the  close  of  last  and  the  beginning  of  this 
century.  He  happened  to  be  passing  the  summer  at  Ca- 
trine,  on  the  Ayr,  a  few  miles  from  Burns's  farm,  and  hav- 
ing been  made  acquainted  with  the  poet's  works  and  chai- 
acter  by  Mr.  Mackenzie,  the  surgeon  of  Mauchline,  he  in- 
vited the  poet  and  the  medical  man  to  dine  with  him  at 
Catrine.  The  day  of  this  meeting  was  the  23rd  of  Octo- 
ber, only  three  days  after  that  on  which  Highland  Mary 
died.  Burns  met  on  that  day  not  only  the  professor  and 
his  accomplished  wife,  but  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
dined  with  a  live  lord — a  young  nobleman,  said  to  have 
been  of  high  promise,  Lord  Daer,  eldest  son  of  the  then 
Earl  of  Selkirk.  He  had  been  a  former  pupil  of  Dugald 
Stewart,  and  happened  to  be  at  that  time  his  guest.  Burns 
has  left  the  following  humorous  record  of  his  own  feelings 
at  that  meeting : 

"  This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns, 
I,  Rhymer  Robin,  alias  Burns, 

October  twenty-third, 
A  ne'er  to  be  forgotten  day, 
Sae  far  I  sprachled  up  the  brae  [clambered], 

I  dinner'd  wi'  a  Lord. 

^F  *  Ifc  ^F  *  ^» 

"  But  wi'  a  Lord  !  stand  out  my  shin, 
A  Lord — a  Peer,  an  Earl's  Son  ! 


L]l  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  3» 

Up  higher  yet  my  bonnet ! 
And  sic  a  Lord  !  lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 
Our  Peerage  he  o'erlooks  them  a', 

As  I  look  o'er  a  sonnet. 

"But  oh  for  Hogarth's  magic  power ! 
To  show  Sir  Bardie's  willyart  glower  [bewildered]. 

And  how  he  stared  and  stammered, 
When  goavan,  as  if  led  in  branks  [moving  stupidly], 
And  stumpin'  on  his  ploughman  shanks, 

He  in  the  parlour  hammered. 

*  I  sidling  sheltered  in  a  nook, 
An'  at  his  Lordship  steal't  a  look 

Like  some  portentous  omen; 
Except  good  sense  and  social  glee, 
An'  (what  surprised  me)  modesty, 

I  marked  nought  uncommon. 


- 


"  I  watched  the  symptoms  o'  the  great, 
The  gentle  pride,  the  lordly  state, 

The  arrogant  assuming ; 
The  fient  a  pride,  nae  pride  had  he, 
Nor  sauce,  nor  state,  that  I  could  see, 

Mair  than  an  honest  ploughman." 

From  this  record  of  that  evening  given  by  Burns,  it  is 
interesting  to  turn  to  the  impression  made  on  Professor 
Stewart  by  this  their  first  interview.     He  says : 

"  His  manners  were  then,  as  they  continued  ever  after- 
wards, simple,  manly,  and  independent;  strongly  expres- 
sive of  conscious  genius  and  worth,  but  without  anything 
that  indicated  forwardness,  arrogance,  or  vanity.  He  took 
his  share  in  conversation,  but  not  more  than  belonged  to 
him ;  and  listened  with  apparent  attention  and  deference 
on  subjects  where  his  want  of  education  deprived  him  of 
the  means  of  information.  If  there  had  been  a  little  more 
of  gentleness  and  accommodation  in  his  temper,  he  would, 


36  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

I  think,  have  been  still  more  interesting ;  but  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  give  law  in  the  circle  of  his  ordinary  ac- 
quaintance, and  his  dread  of  anything  approaching  to 
meanness  or  servility  rendered  his  manner  somewhat  de- 
cided and  hard.  Nothing,  perhaps,  was  more  remarkable 
among  his  various  attainments  than  the  fluency,  and  pre- 
cision, and  originality  of  his  language,  when  he  spoke  in 
company ;  more  particularly  as  he  aimed  at  purity  in  his 
turn  of  expression,  and  avoided,  more  successfully  than 
most  Scotchmen,  the  peculiarities  of  Scottish  phraseology." 

Burns  parted  with  Dugald  Stewart,  after  this  evening 
spent  with  him  in  Ayrshire,  to  meet  him  again  in  the 
Edinburgh  coteries,  amid  which  the  professor  shone  as  a 
chief  light. 

Not  less  important  in  the  history  of  Burns  was  his  first 
introduction  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop,  a  lady  who  con- 
tinued the  constant  friend  of  himself  and  of  his  family 
while  she  lived.  She  was  said  to  be  a  lineal  descendant 
of  the  brother  of  the  great  hero  of  Scotland,  William  Wal- 
lace. Gilbert  Burns  gives  the  following  account  of  the 
way  in  which  his  brother's  acquaintance  with  this  lady 
began : 

"  Of  all  the  friendships,  which  Robert  acquired  in  Ayr- 
shire or  elsewhere,  none  seemed  more  agreeable  to  him 
than  that  of  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop,  nor  any  which  has 
been  more  uniformly  and  constantly  exerted  in  behalf  of 
him  and  his  family,  of  which,  were  it  proper,  I  could  give 
many  instances.  Robert  was  on  the  point  of  setting  out 
for  Edinburgh  before  Mrs.  Dunlop  heard  of  him.  About 
the  time  of  my  brother's  publishing  in  Kilmarnock,  she 
had  been  afflicted  with  a  long  and  severe  illness,  which  had 
reduced  her  mind  to  the  most  distressing  state  of  depres- 
sion.    In  this  situation,  a  copy  of  the  printed  poems  was 


j.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  37 

laid  on  her  table  by  a  friend ;  and  happening  to  open  on 
The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  she  read  it  over  with  the 
greatest  pleasure  and  surprise;  the  poet's  description  of 
the  simple  cottagers  operating  on  her  mind  like  the  charm 
of  a  powerful  exorcist,  expelling  the  demon  ennui,  and  re- 
storing her  to  her  wonted  inward  harmony  and  satisfac- 
tion. Mrs.  Dunlop  sent  off  a  person  express  to  Mossgiel, 
distant  fifteen  or  sixteen  miles,  with  a  very  obliging  letter 
to  my  brother,  desiring  him  to  send  her  half  a  dozen  cop- 
ies of  his  poems,  if  he  had  them  to  spare,  and  begging  he- 
would  do  her  the  pleasure  of  calling  at  Dunlop  House  as 
soon  as  convenient.  This  was  the  beginning  of  a  corre- 
spondence which  ended  only  with  the  poet's  life.  Nearly 
the  last  use  he  made  with  his  pen  was  writing  a  short  let- 
ter to  this  lady  a  few  days  before  his  death." 

The  success  of  the  first  edition  of  his  poems  naturally 
made  Burns  anxious  to  see  a  second  edition  begun.  He 
applied  to  his  Kilmarnock  printer,  who  refused  the  vent- 
ure, unless  Burns  could  supply  ready  money  to  pay  for 
the  printing.  This  he  could  not  do.  But  the  poems  by 
this  time  had  been  read  and  admired  by  the  most  culti- 
vated men  in  Edinburgh,  and  more  than  one  word  of  en- 
couragement had  reached  him  from  that  city.  The  earli- 
est of  these  was  contained  in  a  letter  from  the  blind  poet, 
Dr.  Blacklock,  to  whom  Mr.  Laurie,  the  kindly  and  accom- 
plished minister  of  Loudoun,  had  sent  the  volume.  This 
Mr.  Laurie  belonged  to  the  more  cultivated  section  of  the 
Moderate  party  in  the  Church,  as  it  was  called,  and  was 
the  friend  of  Dr.  Hugh  Blair,  Principal  Robertson,  and 
Dr.  Blacklock,  and  had  been  the  channel  through  which 
Macpherson's  fragments  of  Ossian  had  first  been  brought 
under  the  notice  of  that  literary  circle,  which  afterwards 
introduced  them  to  the  world.     The  same  worthy  minister 


5 


38  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chak 

had,  on  the  first  appearance  of  the  poems,  made  Burns's 
acquaintance,  and  had  received  him  with  warm-hearted 
hospitality.  This  kindness  the  poet  acknowledged,  on  one 
of  his  visits  to  the  Manse  of  Loudoun,  by  leaving  in  the 
room  in  which  he  slept  a  short  poem  of  six  very  feeling 
stanzas,  which  contained  a  prayer  for  the  family.  This  is 
the  last  stanza — 

"  When  soon  or  late  they  reach  that  coast, 
O'er  life's  rough  ocean  driven, 
May  they  rejoice,  no  wanderer  lost, 
A  family  in  heaven !" 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Laurie  received  the  letter  from  Dr.  Black- 
lock,  written  on  the  4th  September,  in  which  warm  admi- 
ration of  the  Kilmarnock  volume  was  expressed,  he  for- 
warded it  to  Burns  at  Mossgiel.  The  result  of  it  fell  like 
sunshine  on  the  young  poet's  heart ;  for,  as  he  says,  "  The 
doctor  belonged  to  a  set  of  critics  for  whose  applause  I 
had  not  dared  to  hope."  The  next  word  of  approval  from 
Edinburgh  was  a  highly  appreciative  criticism  of  the  po- 
ems, which  appeared  in  a  number  of  The  Edinburgh  Mag- 
azine  at  the  beginning  of  November.  Up  till  this  time 
Burns  had  not  abandoned  his  resolution  to  emigrate  to  the 
West  Indies.  But  the  refusal  of  the  Kilmarnock  printer 
to  undertake  a  new  edition,  and  the  voices  of  encourage- 
ment reaching  him  from  Edinburgh,  combining  with  his 
natural  desire  to  remain,  and  be  known  as  a  poet,  in  his 
native  country,  at  length  made  him  abandon  the  thought 
of  exile.  On  the  1 8th  November  we  find  him  writiug  to 
a  friend,  that  he  had  determined  on  Monday  or  Tuesday, 
the  27th  or  28th  November,  to  set  his  face  toward  the 
Scottish  capital  and  try  his  fortune  there. 

At  this  stage  of  the  poet's  career,  Chambers  pauses  to 
speculate  on  the  feelings  with  which  the  humble  family  at 


I.]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  39 

Mosssriel  would  hear  of  the  sudden  blaze  of  their  broth- 
er's  fame,  and  of  the  change  it  had  made  in  his  prospects. 
They  rejoiced,  no  doubt,  that  he  was  thus  rescued  from 
compulsory  banishment,  and  were  no  way  surprised  that 
the  powers  they  had  long  known  him  to  possess  had  at 
length  won  the  world's  admiration.  If  he  had  fallen  into 
evil  courses,  none  knew  it  so  well  as  they,  and  none  had 
suffered  more  by  these  aberrations.  Still,  with  all  his  faults, 
he  had  always  been  to  them  a  kind  son  and  brother,  not 
loved  the  less  for  the  anxieties  he  had  caused  them.  But 
the  pride  and  satisfaction  they  felt  in  his  newly-won  fame 
would  be  deep,  not  demonstrative.  For  the  Burns  family 
were  a  shy,  reserved  race,  and  like  so  many  of  the  Scottish 
peasantry,  the  more  they  felt,  the  less  they  would  express. 
In  this  they  were  very  unlike  the  poet,  with  whom  to  have 
a  feeling  and  to  express  it  were  almost  synonymous.  His 
mother,  though  not  lacking  in  admiration  of  her  son,  is 
said  to  have  been  chiefly  concerned  lest  the  praises  of  his 
genius  should  make  him  forget  the  Giver  of  it.  Such  may 
have  been  the  feelings  of  the  poet's  family. 

What  may  we  imagine  his  own  feeling  to  have  been  in 
this  crisis  of  his  fate  ?  The  thought  of  Edinburgh  society 
would  naturally  stir  that  ambition  which  was  strong  with- 
in him,  and  awaken  a  desire  to  meet  the  men  who  were 
praising  him  in  the  capital,  and  to  try  his  powers  in  that 
wider  arena.  It  might  be  that  in  that  new  scene  some- 
thing might  occur  which  would  reverse  the  current  of  his 
fortunes,  and  set  him  free  from  the  crushing  poverty  that 
had  hitherto  kept  him  down.  Anyhow,  he  was  conscious 
of  strong  powers,  which  fitted  him  to  shine,  not  in  poetry 
only,  but  in  conversation  and  discussion  ;  and,  ploughman 
though  he  was,  he  did  not  shrink  from  encountering  any 
man  or  any  set  of  men.    Proud,  too,  we  know  he  was,  and 


40  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

his  pride  often  showed  itself  in  jealousy  and  suspicion  of 
the  classes  who  were  socially  above  him,  until  such  feel- 
ings were  melted  by  kindly  intercourse  with  some  individ- 
ual man  belonging  to  the  suspected  orders.  He  felt  him- 
self to  surpass  in  natural  powers  those  who  were  his  supe- 
riors in  rank  and  fortune,  and  he  could  not,  for  the  life 
of  him,  see  why  they  should  be  full  of  this  world's  goods, 
while  he  had  none  of  them.  He  had  not  yet  learned — he 
never  did  learn  —  that  lesson,  that  the  genius  he  had  re- 
ceived was  his  allotted  and  sufficient  portion,  and  that  his 
wisdom  lay  in  making  the  most  of  this  rare  inward  gift, 
even  on  a  meagre  allowance  of  the  world's  external  goods. 
But  perhaps,  whether  he  knew  it  or  not,  the  greatest  at- 
traction of  the  capital  was  the  secret  hope  that  in  that 
new  excitement  he  might  escape  from  the  demons  of  re- 
morse and  despair  which  had  for  many  months  been  dog- 
ging him.  He  may  have  fancied  this,  but  the  pangs  which 
Burns  had  created  for  himself  were  too  deep  to  be  in  this 
way  permanently  put  by. 

The  secret  of  his  settled  unhappiness  lay  in  the  affec- 
tions that  he  had  abused  in  himself  and  in  others  who  had 
trusted  him.  The  course  he  had  run  since  his  Irvine  so- 
journ was  not  of  a  kind  to  give  peace  to  him  or  to  any 
man.  A  coarse  man  of  the  world  might  have  stifled  the 
tender  voices  that  were  reproaching  him,  and  have  gone  on 
his  way  uncaring  that  his  conduct — 

"  Hardened  a'  within, 
And  petrified  the  feeling." 

But  Burns  could  not  do  this.  The  heart  that  had  respond- 
ed so  feelingly  to  the  sufferings  of  lower  creatures,  the 
unhoused  mouse,  the  shivering  cattle,  the  wounded  hare, 
could  not  without  shame  remember  the  wrongs  he  had 


l]  YOUTH  IN  AYRSHIRE.  41 

done  to  those  human  beings  whose  chief  fault  was  that 
they  had  trusted  him  not  wisely  but  too  well.  And  these 
suggestions  of  a  sensitive  heart,  conscience  was  at  hand 
to  enforce — a  conscience  wonderfully  clear  to  discern  the 
right,  even  when  the  will  was  least  able  to  fulfil  it.  The 
excitements  of  a  great  city,  and  the  loud  praises  of  his 
fellow-men,  might  enable  him  momentarily  to  forget,  but 
could  not  permanently  stifle  inward  voices  like  these.  So 
it  was  with  a  heart  but  ill  at  ease,  bearing  dark  secrets  he 
could  tell  to  no  one,  that  Burns  passed  from  his  Ayrshire 
cottage  into  the  applause  of  the  Scottish  capital. 

3 


CHAPTER  n. 

FIRST    WINTER    IN    EDINBURGH. 

The  journey  of  Burns  from  Mossgiel  to  Edinburgh  was 
a  sort  of  triumphal  progress.  He  rode  on  a  pony,  lent 
him  by  a  friend,  and  as  the  journey  took  two  days,  his 
testing-place  the  first  night  was  at  the  farm-house  of  Cov- 
ington Mains,  in  Lanarkshire,  hard  by  the  Clyde.  The 
tenant  of  this  farm,  Mr.  Prentice,  was  an  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirer of  Burns's  poems,  and  had  subscribed  for  twenty 
copies  of  the  second  edition.  His  son,  years  afterwards, 
in  a  letter  to  Christopher  North,  thus  describes  the  even- 
ing on  which  Burns  appeared  at  his  father's  farm : — "All 
the  farmers  in  the  parish  had  read  the  poet's  then  pub- 
lished works,  and  were  anxious  to  see  him.  They  were 
all  asked  to  meet  him  at  a  late  dinner,  and  the  signal  of 
his  arrival  was  to  be  a  white  sheet  attached  to  a  pitchfork, 
and  put  on  the  top  of  a  corn-stack  in  the  barn-yard.  The 
parish  is  a  beautiful  amphitheatre,  with  the  Clyde  winding 
through  it — Wellbrae  Hill  to  the  west,  Tinto  Hill  and  the 
Culler  Fells  to  the  south,  and  the  pretty,  green,  conical 
hill,  Quothquan  Law,  to  the  east.  My  father's  stack-yard, 
lying  in  the  centre,  was  seen  from  every  house  in  the  par- 
ish. At  length  Burns  arrived,  mounted  on  a  borrowed 
pownie.  Instantly  was  the  white  flag  hoisted,  and  as  in- 
stantly were  seen  the  farmers  issuing  from  their  houses, 
and  converging  to  the  point  of  meeting.     A  glorious  even- 


chap,  ii.]  FIRST  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  4o 

ing,  or  rather  night,  which  borrowed  something  from  the 
morning,  followed,  and  the  conversation  of  the  poet  con- 
firmed and  increased  the  admiration  created  by  his  writ- 
ings. On  the  following  morning  he  breakfasted  with  a 
large  party  at  the  next  farm  -  house,  tenanted  by  James 
Stodart ;  . . .  took  lunch  with  a  large  party  at  the  bank  in 
Carnwath,  and  rode  into  Edinburgh  that  evening  on  the 
pownie,  which  he  returned  to  the  owner  in  a  few  days 
afterwards  by  John  Samson,  the  brother  of  the  immortal 
Tam." 

This  is  but  a  sample  of  the  kind  of  receptions  which 
were  henceforth  to  await  Burns  wherever  his  coming  was 
known.  If  such  welcomes  were  pleasing  to  his  ambition, 
they  must  have  been  trying  both  to  his  bodily  and  his 
mental  health. 

Burns  reached  Edinburgh  on  the  28th  of  November, 
1786.  The  one  man  of  note  there  with  whom  he  had  any 
acquaintance  was  Professor  Dugald  Stewart,  whom,  as  al- 
ready mentioned,  he  had  met  in  Ayrshire.  But  it  was  not 
to  him  or  to  any  one  of  his  reputation  that  he  first  turned ; 
but  he  sought  refuge  with  John  Richmond,  an  old  Mauch- 
line  acquaintance,  who  was  humbly  lodged  in  Baxter's 
Close,  Lawnmarket.  During  the  whole  of  his  first  winter 
in  Edinburgh,  Burns  lived  in  the  lodging  of  this  poor  lad, 
and  shared  with  him  his  single  room  and  bed,  for  which 
they  paid  three  shillings  a  week.  It  was  from  this  retreat 
that  Burns  was  afterwards  to  go  forth  into  the  best  so- 
ciety of  the  Scottish  capital,  and  thither,  after  these  brief 
hospitalities  were  over,  he  had  to  return.  For  some  days 
after  his  arrival  in  town,  he  called  on  no  one — letters  of 
introduction  he  had  none  to  deliver.  But  he  is  said  to 
have  wandered  about  alone,  "  looking  down  from  Arthur's 

Seat,  surveying  the  palace,  gazing  at  the  Castle,  or  looking 
D 


44  ROBERT  BURNS.  [ohap. 

into  the  windows  of  the  booksellers'  shops,  where  he  saw 
all  books  of  the  day,  save  the  poems  of  the  Ayrshire 
Ploughman."  He  found  his  way  to  the  lowly  grave  of 
Fergusson,  and,  kneeling  down,  kissed  the  sod ;  he  sought 
out  the  house  of  Allan  Ramsay,  and,  on  entering  it,  took 
off  his  hat.  While  Burns  is  thus  employed,  we  may  cast 
a  glance  at  the  capital  to  which  he  had  come,  and  the  so- 
ciety he  was  about  to  enter. 

Edinburgh  at  that  time  was  still  adorned  by  a  large 
number  of  the  stars  of  literature,  which,  although  none  of 
those  then  living  may  have  reached  the  first  magnitude, 
had  together  made  a  galaxy  in  the  northern  heavens,  from 
the  middle  till  the  close  of  last  century.  At  that  time  lit- 
erature was  well  represented  in  the  University.  The  Head 
of  it  was  Dr.  Robertson,  well  known  as  the  historian  of 
Charles  V.,  and  as  the  author  of  other  historic  works. 
The  chair  of  Belles-Lettres  w^as  filled  by  the  accomplished 
Dr.  Hugh  Blair,  whose  lectures  remain  one  of  the  best 
samples  of  the  correct  and  elegant,  but  narrow  and  frigid 
style,  both  of  sentiment  and  criticism,  which  then  flourish- 
ed throughout  Europe,  and  nowhere  more  than  in  Edin- 
burgh. Another  still  greater  ornament  of  the  University 
was  Dugald  Stewart,  the  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy, 
whose  works,  if  they  have  often  been  surpassed  in  depth 
and  originality  of  speculation,  have  seldom  been  equalled 
for  solid  sense  and  polished  ease  of  diction.  The  profess- 
ors at  that  time  were  most  of  them  either  taken  from  the 
ranks  of  the  clergy,  or  closely  connected  with  them. 

Among  the  literary  men  unconnected  with  the  Univer- 
sity, by  far  the  greatest  name,  that  of  David  Hume,  had 
disappeared  about  ten  years  before  Burns  arrived  in  the 
capital.     But  his  friend,  Dr.  Adam  Smith,  author  of  The 
Wealth  of  Nations,  still  lingered.     Mr.  Henry  Mackenzie, 


ii.  J  FIRST  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  45 

"  The  Man  of  Feeling,"  as  he  was  called  from  his  best  ' 
known  work,  was  at  that  time  one  of  the  most  polished 
as  well  as  popular  writers  in  Scotland.  He  was  then  con- 
ducting a  periodical  called  the  Lounger,  which  was  ac- 
knowledged as  the  highest  tribunal  of  criticism  in  Scot- 
land, and  was  not  unknown  beyond  it. 

But  even  more  influential  than  the  literary  lights  of 
the  University  were  the  magnates  of  the  Bench  and  Bar. 
During  the  eighteenth  century  and  the  earlier  part  of  the 
nineteenth,  the  Scottish  Bar  was  recruited  almost  entirely 
from  the  younger  sons  of  ancient  Scottish  families.  To 
the  patrician  feelings  which  they  brought  with  them  from 
their  homes  these  men  added  that  exclusiveness  which 
clings  to  a  profession  claiming  for  itself  the  highest  place 
in  the  city  where  they  resided.  Modern  democracy  has 
made  rude  inroads  on  what  was  formerly  something  of  a 
select  patrician  caste.  But  the  profession  of  the  Bar  has 
never  wanted  either  then  or  in  more  recent  times  some 
genial  and  original  spirits  who  broke  through  the  crust 
of  exclusiveness.  Such,  at  the  time  of  Burns's  advent, 
was  Lord  Monboddo,  the  speculative  and  humorous  judge,  ' 
wdio  in  his  own  way  anticipated  the  theory  of  man's  de- 
scent from  the  monkey.  Such,  too,  was  the  genial  and 
graceful  Henry  Erskine,  the  brother  of  the  Lord  Chancel- 
lor of  that  name,  the  pride  and  the  favourite  of  his  pro- 
fession— the  sparkling  and  ready  wit  who,  thirteen  years 
before  the  day  of  Burns,  had  met  the  rude  manners  of 
Dr.  Johnson  with  a  well-known  repartee.  "When  the 
Doctor  visited  the  Parliament  House,  Erskine  was  pre- 
sented to  him  by  Boswell,  and  was  somewhat  gruffly  re- 
ceived. After  having  made  his  bow,  Erskine  slipped  a 
shilling  into  Boswell's  hand,  whispering  that  it  was  for  the 
sight  of  his  bear! 


46  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

Besides  these  two  classes,  the  occupants  of  the  Profes- 
sorial chair  and  of  the  Bar,  there  still  gathered  every 
winter  in  Edinburgh  a  fair  sprinkling  of  rank  and  beauty, 
which  had  not  yet  abandoned  the  Scottish  for  the  Eng- 
lish capital.  The  leader  at  that  time  in  gay  society  was 
the  well-known  Duchess  of  Gordon  —  a  character  so  re- 
markable in  her  day  that  some  rumour  of  her  still  lives 
in  Scottish  memory.  The  impression  made  upon  her  by 
Burns  and  his  conversation  shall  afterwards  be  noticed. 

Though  Burns  for  the  first  day  or  two  after  his  arrival 
wandered  about  companionless,  he  was  not  left  long  un- 
friended. Mr.  Dalrymple,  of  Orangefield,  an  Ayrshire 
country  gentleman,  a  warm  -  hearted  man,  and  a  zealous 
Freemason,  who  had  become  acquainted  with  Burns  dur- 
ing the  previous  summer,  now  introduced  the  Ayrshire 
bard  to  his  relative,  the  Earl  of  Glencairn.  This  noble- 
man, who  had  heard  of  Burns  from  his  Ayrshire  factor, 
welcomed  him  in  a  very  friendly  spirit,  introduced  him  to 
his  connexion,  Henry  Erskine,  and  also  recommended  him 
to  the  good  offices  of  Creech,  at  that  time  the  first  pub- 
lisher in  Edinburgh.  Of  Lord  Glencairn,  Chambers  says 
that  "  his  personal  beauty  formed  the  index  to  one  of  the 
fairest  characters."  As  long  as  he  lived  he  did  his  ut- 
most to  befriend  Burns,  and  on  his  death,  a  few  years  after 
this  time,  the  poet,  who  seldom  praised  the  great  unless 
he  respected  and  loved  them,  composed  one  of  his  most 
pathetic  elegies. 

It  was  not,  however,  to  his  few  Ayrshire  connexions 
only,  Mr.  Dalrymple,  Dugald  Stewart,  and  others,  that 
Burns  was  indebted  for  his  introduction  to  Edinburgh 
society.  His  own  fame  was  now  enough  to  secure  it.  A 
criticism  of  his  poems,  which  appeared  within  a  fortnight 
after  his   arrival  in  Edinburgh,  in  the  Lounger,  on  the 


ii.]  FIRST  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  47 

9th  of  December,  did  much  to  increase  his  reputation. 
The  author  of  that  criticism  was  The  Man  of  Feeling,  and 
to  him  belongs  the  credit  of  having  been  the  first  to  claim 
that  Burns  should  be  recognized  as  a  great  original  poet, 
not  relatively  only,  in  consideration  of  the  difficulties  he 
had  to  struggle  with,  but  absolutely  on  the  ground  of  the 
intrinsic  excellence  of  his  work.  He  pointed  to  his  power 
of  delineating  manners,  of  painting  the  passions,  and  of 
describing  scenery,  as  all  bearing  the  stamp  of  true  genius ; 
he  called  on  his  countrymen  to  recognize  that  a  great  na- 
tional poet  had  arisen  amongst  them,  and  to  appreciate 
the  gift  that  in  him  had  been  bestowed  upon  their  genera- 
tion. Alluding  to  his  narrow  escape  from  exile,  he  ex- 
horted them  to  retain  and  to  cherish  this  inestimable  gift 
of  a  native  poet,  and  to  repair,  as  far  as  possible,  the 
wrongs  which  suffering  or  neglect  had  inflicted  on  him. 
The  Lounger  had  at  that  time  a  wide  circulation  in  Scot- 
land, and  penetrated  even  to  England.  It  was  known  and 
read  by  the  poet  Cowper,  who,  whether  from  this  or  some 
other  source,  became  acquainted  with  the  poems  of  Burns 
within  the  first  year  of  their  publication.  In  July,  1787, 
we  find  the  poet  of  The  Task  telling  a  correspondent  that 
he  had  read  Burns' s  poems  twice ;  "  and  though  they  be 
written  in  a  language  that  is  new  to  me  ...  I  think 
them,  on  the  whole,  a  very  extraordinary  production.  He 
is,  I  believe,  the  only  poet  these  kingdoms  have  produced 
in  the  lower  rank  of  life  since  Shakespeare  (I  should  rather 
say  since  Prior),  who  need  not  be  indebted  for  any  part 
of  his  praise  to  a  charitable  consideration  of  his  origin, 
and  the  disadvantages  under  which  he  has  laboured." 
Cowper  thus  endorses  the  verdict  of  Mackenzie  in  almost 
the  same  language. 

It  did  not,  however,  require  such  testimonials,  from  here 
29 


48  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

and  there  a  literary  man,  however  eminent,  to  open  every 
hospitable  door  in  Edinburgh  to  Burns.  Within  a  month 
after  his  arrival  in  town  he  had  been  welcomed  at  the 
tables  of  all  the  celebrities — Lord  Monboddo,  Robertson, 
the  historian,  Dr.  Hugh  Blair,  Dugald  Stewart,  Dr.  Adam 
Ferguson,  The  Man  of  Feeling,  Mr.  Fraser  Tytler,  and 
many  others.  We  are  surprised  to  find  that  he  had  been 
nearly  two  months  in  town  before  he  called  on  the  amiable 
Dr.  Blacklock,  the  blind  poet,  who  in  his  well-known  letter 
to  Dr.  Laurie  had  been  the  first  Edinburgh  authority  to 
hail  in  Burns  the  rising  of  a  new  star. 

How  he  bore  himself  throughout  that  winter  when  he 
was  the  chief  lion  of  Edinburgh  society  many  records 
remain  to  show,  both  in  his  own  letters  and  in  the  reports 
of  those  who  met  him.  On  the  whole,  his  native  good 
sense  carried  him  well  through  the  ordeal.  If  he  showed 
for  the  most  part  due  respect  to  others,  he  was  still  more 
bent  on  maintaining  his  respect  for  himself ;  indeed,  this 
latter  feeling  was  pushed  even  to  an  exaggerated  inde- 
pendence. As  Mr.  Lockhart  has  expressed  it,  he  showed, 
"  in  the  whole  strain  of  his  bearing,  his  belief  that  in  the 
society  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  his  nation  he  was 
where  he  was  entitled  to  be,  hardly  deigning  to  flatter 
them  by  exhibiting  a  symptom  of  being  flattered."  All 
who  heard  him  were  astonished  by  his  wonderful  powers 
of  conversation.  These  impressed  them,  they  said,  with  a 
greater  sense  of  his  genius  than  even  his  finest  poems. 

With  the  ablest  men  that  he  met  he  held  his  own  in 
argument,  astonishing  all  listeners  by  the  strength  of  his 
judgment,  and  the  keenness  of  his  insight  both  into  men 
and  things.  And  when  he  warmed  on  subjects  which 
interested  him,  the  boldest  stood  amazed  at  the  flashes  of 
his  wit,  and  the  vehement  flow  of  his  impassioned  elo- 


n.J  FIRST  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  49 

quence.  With  the  "  high-horn  ladies  "  he  succeeded  even 
better  than  with  the  "  stately  patricians  " — as  one  of  those 
dames  herself  expressed  it,  fairly  carrying  them  off  their 
feet  by  the  deference  of  his  manner,  and  the  mingled 
humour  and  pathos  of  his  talk. 

It  is  interesting  to  know  in  what  dress  Burns  generally 
appeared  in  Edinburgh.  Soon  after  coming  thither  he  is 
said  to  have  laid  aside  his  country  clothes  for  "  a  suit  of 
blue  and  buff,  the  livery  of  Mr.  Fox,  with  buckskins  and 
top-boots."  How  he  wore  his  hair  will  be  seen  imme- 
diately. There  are  several  well-known  descriptions  of 
Burns's  manner  and  appearance  during  his  Edinburgh  so- 
journ, which,  often  as  they  have  been  quoted,  cannot  be 
passed  by  in  any  account  of  his  life. 

Mr.  Walker,  who  met  him  for  the  first  time  at  break- 
fast in  the  house  of  Dr.  Blacklock,  says,  "  I  was  not  much 
struck  by  his  first  appearance.  His  person,  though  strong 
and  well-knit,  and  much  superior  to  what  might  be  expect- 
ed in  a  ploughman,  appeared  to  be  only  of  the  middle  size, 
'  but  was  rather  above  it.  His  motions  were  firm  and  de- 
cided, and,  though  without  grace,  were  at  the  same  time 
so  free  from  clownish  constraint  as  to  show  that  he  had 
not  always  been  confined  to  the  society  of  his  profes- 
sion. His  countenance  was  not  of  that  elegant  cast  which 
is  most  frequent  among  the  upper  ranks,  but  it  was  manly 
and  intelligent,  and  marked  by  a  thoughtful  gravity  which 
shaded  at  times  into  sternness.  In  his  large  dark  eye 
the  most  striking  index  of  his  genius  resided.  It  was  full 
of  mind.  .  .  .  He  was  plainly  but  properly  dressed,  in  a 
style  midway  between  the  holiday  costume  of  a  farmer 
and  that  of  the  company  with  which  he  now  associated. 
His  black  hair  without  powder,  at  a  time  when  it  was 
generally  worn,  was  tied  behind,  and  spread  upon  his  fore- 

3* 


60  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

head.  Had  I  met  him  near  a  seaport,  I  should  have  con- 
jectured him  to  be  the  master  of  a  merchant  vessel.  .  .  . 
In  no  part  of  his  manner  was  there  the  slightest  affecta- 
tion ;  nor  could  a  stranger  have  suspected,  from  anything 
in  his  behaviour  or  conversation,  that  he  had  been  for  some 
months  the  favourite  of  all  the  fashionable  circles  of  the 
metropolis.  In  conversation  he  was  powerful.  His  con- 
ceptions and  expressions  were  of  corresponding  vigour, 
and  on  all  subjects  were  as  remote  as  possible  from  com- 
monplaces. Though  somewhat  authoritative,  it  was  in  a 
way  which  gave  little  offence,  and  was  readily  imputed  to 
his  inexperience  in  those  modes  of  smoothing  dissent  and 
softening  assertion,  which  are  important  characteristics  of 
polished  manners. 

"  The  day  after  my  first  introduction  to  Burns,  I  supped 
with  him  at  Dr.  Blair's.  The  other  guests  were  few,  and 
as  they  had  come  to  meet  Burns,  the  Doctor  endeavoured 
to  draw  him  out,  and  to  make  him  the  central  figure  of 
the  group.  Though  he  therefore  furnished  the  greatest 
proportion  of  the  conversation,  he  did  no  more  than  what 
he  saw  evidently  was  expected.  From  the  blunders  often 
committed  by  men  of  genius  Burns  was  unusually  free ; 
yet  on  the  present  occasion  he  made  a  more  awkward  slip 
than  any  that  are  reported  of  the  poets  or  mathematicians 
most  noted  for  absence  of  mind.  Being  asked  from  which 
of  the  public  places  he  had  received  the  greatest  gratifica- 
tion, he  named  the  High  Church,  but  gave  the  preference 
as  a  preacher  to  the  colleague  of  our  worthy  entertainer, 
whose  celebrity  rested  on  his  pulpit  eloquence,  in  a  tone  so 
pointed  and  decisive  as  to  throw  the  whole  company  into 
the  most  foolish  embarrassment !"  Dr.  Blair,  we  are  told, 
relieved  their  confusion  by  seconding  Burns's  praise.  The 
poet  saw  his  mistake,  but  had  the  good  sense  not  to  try  to 


ii.]  FIRST  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  51 

repair  it.  Years  afterwards  he  told  Professor  Walker  that 
lie  Lad  never  spoken  of  this  unfortunate  blunder,  so  pain- 
ful to  him  had  the  remembrance  of  it  been. 

There  seems  little  doubt,  from  all  the  accounts  that  have 
been  preserved,  that  Burns  in  conversation  gave  forth  his 
opinions  with  more  decision  than  politeness.  He  had  not 
a  little  of  that  mistaken  pride  not  uncommon  among  his 
countrymen,  which  fancies  that  gentle  manners  and  con- 
sideration for  others'  feelings  are  marks  of  servility.  He 
was  for  ever  harping  on  independence,  and  this  betrayed 
him  into  some  acts  of  rudeness  in  society  which  have  been 
recorded  with  perhaps  too  great  minuteness. 

Against  these  remarks,  we  must  set  the  testimony  of 
Dugald  Stewart,  who  says :  "  The  attentions  he  received 
from  all  ranks  and  descriptions  of  persons  would  have  turn- 
ed any  head  but  his  own.  I  cannot  say  that  I  perceived 
any  unfavourable  effect  which  they  left  on  his  mind.  He 
retained  the  same  simplicity  which  had  struck  me  so  forci- 
bly when  first  I  saw  him  in  the  country,  nor  did  he  seem 
to  feel  any  additional  self-importance  from  the  number 
and  rank  of  his  new  acquaintance.  He  walked  with  me 
in  spring,  early  in  the  morning,  to  the  Braid  Hills,  when 
he  charmed  me  still  more  by  his  private  conversation  than 
he  had  ever  done  in  company.  He  was  passionately  fond 
of  the  beauties  of  nature ;  and  he  once  told  me,  when  I 
was  admiring  a  distant  prospect  in  one  of  our  morning 
walks,  that  the  sight  of  so  many  smoking  cottages  gave  a 
pleasure  to  his  mind  which  none  could  understand  who 
had  not  witnessed,  like  himself,  the  happiness  and  worth 
which  they  contained.  .  .  .  The  idea  which  his  conver- 
sation conveyed  of  the  powers  of  his  mind  exceeded,  if 
possible,  that  which  is  suggested  by  his  writings.  All  his 
faculties  were,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  equally  vigorous, 


52  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

and  his  predilection  for  poetry  was  rather  the  result  of  his 
own  enthusiastic  and  impassioned  temper,  than  of  a  genius 
exclusively  adapted  to  that  species  of  composition.  I 
should  have  pronounced  him  fitted  to  excel  in  whatever 
walk  of  ambition  he  had  chosen.  .  .  .  The  remarks  he 
made  on  the  characters  of  men  were  shrewd  and  pointed, 
though  frequently  inclining  too  much  to  sarcasm.  His 
praise  of  those  he  loved  was  sometimes  indiscriminate  and 
extravagant.  .  .  .  His  wit  was  ready,  and  always  impressed 
with  the  marks  of  a  vigorous  understanding ;  but,  to  my 
taste,  not  often  pleasing  or  happy." 

While  the  learned  of  his  own  day  were  measuring  him 
thus  coolly,  and  forming  their  critical  estimates  of  him, 
youths  of  the  younger  generation  were  regarding  him 
with  far  other  eyes.  Of  Jeffrey,  when  a  lad  in  his  teens, 
it  is  recorded  that  one  day  in  the  winter  of  1786-87,  as 
he  stood  on  the  High  Street  of  Edinburgh,  staring  at  a 
man  whose  appearance  struck  him,  a  person  at  a  shop 
door  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  said,  "  Aye,  laddie, 
ye  may  weel  look  at  that  man.  That's  Robbie  Burns." 
This  was  the  young  critic's  first  and  last  look  at  the  poet 
of  his  country. 

But  the  most  interesting  of  all  the  reminiscences  of 
Burns,  during  his  Edinburgh  visit,  or,  indeed,  during  any 
other  time,  was  the  day  when  young  Walter  Scott  met 
him,  and  received  from  him  that  one  look  of  approbation. 

This  is  the  account  of  that  meeting  which  Scott  him- 
self gave  to  Lockhart :  "  As  for  Burns,  I  may  truly  say, 
'Virgilium  vidi  tantum?  I  was  a  lad  of  fifteen  when  he 
came  to  Edinburgh.  I  saw  him  one  day  at  the  late  ven- 
erable Professor  Adam  Fcrgusson's.  Of  course  we  young- 
sters sat  silent,  looked  and  listened.  The  only  thing  I 
remembered  which  was  remarkable   in  Burns's   manner, 


ii.]  FIRST  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  63 

was  the  effect  produced  upon  bim  by  a  print  of  Bunbury's, 
representing  a  soldier  lying  dead  on  the  snow,  his  dog 
sittino-  in  misery  on  one  side  —  on  the  other,  his  widow, 
with  a  child  in  her  arms.  These  lines  were  written  be- 
neath : 

'  Cold  on  Canadian  lulls,  or  Minden's  plain, 
Perhaps  that  parent  wept  her  soldier  slain — 
Bent  o'er  the  babe,  her  eye  dissolved  in  dew, 
The  big  drops  mingling  with  the  milk  he  drew, 
Gave  the  sad  presage  of  his  future  years, 
The  child  of  misery  baptized  in  tears.' 

"  Burns  seemed  much  affected  by  the  print :  he  actual- 
ly shed  tears.  He  asked  whose  the  lines  were,  and  it 
chanced  that  nobody  but  myself  remembered  that  they 
occur  in  a  haif-forgotten  poem  of  Langhorne's,  called  by 
the  unpromising  title  of  The  Justice  of  Peace.  I  whisper- 
ed my  information  to  a  friend  present,  who  mentioned  it 
to  Burns,  who  rewarded  me  with  a  look  and  a  word, 
which  though  of  mere  civility,  I  then  received  with  very 
great  pleasure.  His  person  was  strong  and  robust;  his 
manner  rustic,  not  clownish;  a  sort  of  dignified  plainness 
and  simplicity.  His  countenance  was  more  massive  than 
it  looks  in  any  of  the  portraits.  I  would  have  taken  the 
poet,  had  I  not  known  who  he  was,  for  a  very  sagacious 
country  farmer  of  the  old  Scotch  school — the  douce  gude- 
man  who  held  his  own  plough.  There  was  a  strong  ex- 
pression of  sense  and  shrewdness  in  all  his  lineaments; 
the  eye  alone,  I  think,  indicated  the  poetical  character  and 
temperament.  It  was  large,  and  of  a  dark  cast,  which 
glowed  (I  say  literally  glowed)  when  he  spoke  with  feel- 
ing or  interest.  I  never  saw  such  another  eye  in  a  human 
head,  though  I  have  seen  the  most  distinguished  men  or 
my  time." 


54  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap 

While  men  of  the  upper  ranks,  old  and  young,  were 
thus  receiving  their  impressions,  and  forming  their  various 
estimates  of  Burns,  he,  we  may  be  sure,  was  not  behind- 
hand in  his  reflections  on  them,  and  on  himself.  He  had 
by  nature  his  full  share  of  that  gnawing  self-consciousness 
which  haunts  the  irritable  tribe,  from  which  no  modern 
poet  but  Walter  Scott  has  been  able  wholly  to  escape. 
While  he  was  bearing  himself  thus  manfully  to  outward 
appearance,  inwardly  he  was  scrutinizing  himself  and 
others  with  a  morbid  sensitiveness.  In  the  heyday  of  his 
Edinburgh  popularity,  he  writes  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  one  of 
his  most  trusted  friends,  what  he  repeats  to  other  corre- 
spondents, that  he  had  long  been  at  pains  to  take  a  true 
measure  of  himself  and  to  form  a  just  estimate  of  his 
powers ;  that  this  self-estimate  was  not  raised  by  his  pres- 
ent success,  nor  would  it  be  depressed  by  future  neglect ; 
that  though  the  tide  of  popularity  was  now  at  full  flood, 
he  foresaw  that  the  ebb  would  soon  set  in,  and  that  he 
was  prepared  for  it.  In  the  same  letters  he  speaks  of  his 
having  too  much  pride  for  servility,  as  though  there  was 
no  third  and  more  excellent  way ;  of  "  the  stubborn  pride 
of  his  own  bosom,"  on  which  he  seems  mainly  to  have 
relied.  Indeed,  throughout  his  life  there  is  much  talk  of 
what  Mr.  Carlyle  well  calls  the  altogether  barren  and  un- 
fruitful principle  of  pride  ;  much  prating  about  "  a  certain 
fancied  rock  of  independence" — a  rock  which  he  found 
but  a  poor  shelter  when  the  worst  ills  of  life  overtook 
him.  This  feeling  reached  its  height  when,  soon  after 
leaving  Edinburgh,  we  find  him  writing  to  a  comrade  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  heart  that  the  stateliness  of  Edinburgh 
patricians  and  the  meanness  of  Mauchline  plebeians  had 
so  disgusted  him  with  his  kind,  that  he  had  bought  a 
pocket  copy  of  Milton  to  study  the  character  of  Satan, 


n.J  FIRST  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  68 

as  the  great  exemplar  of  "  intrepid,  unyielding  indepen- 
dence." 

If  during  his  stay  in  Edinburgh,  his  "  irascible  humour  " 
never  went  so  far  as  this,  "  the  contumely  of  condescen- 
sion" must  have  entered  pretty  deeply  into  the  soul  of 
the  proud  peasant  when  he  made  the  following  memorable 
entry  in  his  diary,  on  the  9th  April,  178V.  After  some 
remarks  on  the  difficulty  of  true  friendship,  and  the  haz- 
ard of  losing  men's  respect  by  being  too  confidential  with 
friends,  he  goes  on  :  "  For  these  reasons,  I  am  determined 
to  make  these  pages  my  confidant.  I  will  sketch  every 
character  that  any  way  strikes  me,  to  the  best  of  my 
power,  with  unshrinking  justice.  I  will  insert  anecdotes 
and  take  down  remarks,  in  the  old  law  phrase,  without 
feud  or  favour.  ...  I  think  a  lock  and  key  a  security  at 
least  equal  to  the  bosom  of  any  friend  whatever.  My 
own  private  story  likewise,  my  love  adventures,  my  ram- 
bles ;  the  frowns  and  smiles  of  fortune  on  my  hardship ; 
my  poems  and  fragments,  that  must  never  see  the  light, 
shall  be  occasionally  inserted.  In  short,  never  did  four 
shillings  purchase  so  much  friendship,  since  confidence 
went  first  to  the  market,  or  honesty  was  set  up  for  sale.  .  .  . 

"  There  are  few  of  the  sore  evils  under  the  sun  give  me 
more  uneasiness  and  chagrin,  than  the  comparison  how  a 
man  of  genius,  nay,  of  avowed  worth,  is  received  every- 
where, with  the  reception  which  a  mere  ordinary  charac- 
ter, decorated  with  the  trappings  and  futile  distinctions  of 
fortune,  meets :  I  imagine  a  man  of  abilities,  his  breast 
glowing  with  honest  pride,  conscious  that  men  are  born 
equal,  still  giving  honour  to  whom  honour  is  due;  he 
meets  at  a  great  man's  table  a  Squire  Something  or  a  Sir 
Somebody;  he  knows  the  noble  landlord  at  heart  gives 
the  bard,  or  whatever  he  is,  a  share  of  his  good  wishes,  be- 


66  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

yond,  perhaps,  any  one  at  the  table ;  yet  how  will  it  mor- 
tify him  to  see  a  fellow  whose  abilities  would  scarceiy 
have  made  an  eightpenny  tailor,  and  whose  heart  is  not 
worth  three  farthings,  meet  with  attention  and  notice  that 
are  withheld  from  the  son  of  genius  and  poverty  ! 

"  The  noble  Glencairn  has  wounded  me  to  the  soul  here, 
because  I  dearly  esteem,  respect,  and  love  him.  He  show- 
ed so  much  attention,  engrossing  attention,  one  day,  to 
the  only  blockhead  at  table  (the  whole  company  consisted 
of  his  lordship,  dunder-pate,  and  myself),  that  I  was  with- 
in half  a  point  of  throwing  down  my  gage  of  contemptu- 
ous defiance,  but  he  shook  my  hand  and  looked  so  benev- 
olently good  at  parting,  God  bless  him !  though  I  should 
never  see  him  more,  I  shall  love  him  to  my  dying  day  1 
I  am  pleased  to  think  I  am  so  capable  of  gratitude,  as  1 
am  miserably  deficient  in  some  other  virtues." 

Lockhart,  after  quoting  largely  from  this  Common-place 
Book,  adds,  "  This  curious  document  has  not  yet  been 
printed  entire.  Another  generation  will,  no  doubt,  see 
the  whole  of  the  confession."  All  that  remains  of  it  has 
recently  been  given  to  the  world.  The  original  design 
was  not  carried  out,  and  what  is  left  is  but  a  fragment, 
written  chiefly  in  Edinburgh,  with  a  few  additions  made 
at  Ellisland.  The  only  characters  which  are  sketched  are 
those  of  Blair,  Stewart,  Creech,  and  Greenfield.  The  re- 
marks on  Blair,  if  not  very  appreciative,  are  mild  and 
not  unkindly.  There  seems  to  be  irony  in  the  praise  of 
Dugald  Stewart  for  the  very  qualities  in  which  Burns 
probably  thought  him  to  be  deficient.  Creech's  strangely 
composite  character  is  well  touched  off.  Dr.  Greenfield, 
the  colleague  of  Dr.  Blair,  whose  eloquence  Burns  on  an 
unfortunate  occasion  preferred  to  that  of  his  host,  alone 
comes  in  for  an  unaffected  eulogy.     The  plain  and  manly 


u.J  FIRST  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  5V 

directness  of  these  prose  sketches  is  in  striking  contrast 
to  the  ambitious  flights  which  the  poet  attempts'  in  many 
of  his  letters. 

Dugald  Stewart  in  his  cautious  way  hints  that  Burns 
did  not  always  keep  himself  to  the  learned  circles  which 
had  welcomed  him,  but  sometimes  indulged  in  "  not  very 
select  society."  How  much  this  cautious  phrase  covers 
may  be  seen  by  turning  to  Heron's  account  of  some  of 
the  scenes  in  which  Burns  mingled.  Tavern  life  was 
then  in  Edinburgh,  as  elsewhere,  more  or  less  habitual  in 
all  classes.  In  those  clubs  and  brotherhoods  of  the  mid- 
dle class,  which  met  in  taverns  down  the  closes  and  wynds 
of  High  Street,  Burns  found  a  welcome,  warmer,  freer, 
more  congenial  than  any  vouchsafed  to  him  in  more  pol- 
ished coteries.  Thither  convened  when  their  day's  work 
was  done,  lawyers,  writers,  schoolmasters,  printers,  shop- 
keepers, tradesmen — ranting,  roaring  boon-companions — 
who  gave  themselves  up,  for  the  time,  to  coarse  songs, 
rough  raillery,  and  deep  drinking.  At  these  meetings  all 
restraint  was  cast  to  the  winds,  and  the  mirth  drove  fast 
and  furious.  With  open  arms  the  clubs  welcomed  the 
poet  to  their  festivities ;  each  man  proud  to  think  that 
he  was  carousing  with  Robbie  Burns.  The  poet  the  while 
gave  full  vein  to  all  his  impulses,  mimicking,  it  is  said, 
and  satirizing  his  superiors  in  position,  who,  he  fancied, 
had  looked  on  him  coldly,  paying  them  off  by  making 
them  the  butt  of  his  raillery,  letting  loose  all  his  varied 
powers,  wit,  humour,  satire,  drollery,  and  throwing  off 
from  time  to  time  snatches  of  licentious  song,  to  be  pick- 
ed up  by  eager  listeners  —  song  wildly  defiant  of  all  the 
proprieties.  The  scenes  which  Burns  there  took  part  in 
far  exceeded  any  revelries  he  had  seen  in  the  clubs  of 


68  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

Tarbolton  and  Mauchline,  and  did  him  no  good.  If  we 
may  trust  the  testimony  of  Heron,  at  the  meetings  of  a 
certain  Crochallan  club,  and  at  other  such  uproarious  gath- 
erings, he  made  acquaintances  who,  before  that  winter  was 
over,  led  him  on  from  tavern  dissipations  to  still  worse 
haunts  and  habits. 

By  the  21st  of  April  (1787),  the  ostensible  object  for 
which  Burns  had  come  to  Edinburgh  was  attained,  and 
the  second  edition  of  bis  poems  appeared  in  a  handsome 
octavo  volume.  The  publisher  was  Creech,  then  chief  of 
his  trade  in  Scotland.  The  volume  was  published  by  sub- 
scription "  for  the  sole  benefit  of  the  author,"  and  the 
subscribers  were  so  numerous  that  the  list  of  them  cov- 
ered thirty-eight  pages.  In  that  list  appeared  the  names 
of  many  of  the  chief  men  of  Scotland,  some  of  whom 
subscribed  for  twenty  —  Lord  Eglinton  for  as  many  as 
forty -two  copies.  Chambers  thinks  that  full  justice  has 
never  been  done  to  the  liberality  of  the  Scottish  public 
in  the  way  they  subscribed  for  this  volume.  Nothing 
equal  to  the  patronage  that  Burns  at  this  time  met  with 
had  been  seen  since  the  days  of  Pope's  Iliad.  This  sec- 
ond edition,  besides  the  poems  which  had  appeared  in  the 
Kilmarnock  one,  contained  several  additional  pieces,  the 
most  important  of  which  had  been  composed  before  the 
Edinburgh  visit.  Such  were  Death  and  Doctor  Hornbook, 
The  Brigs  of  Ayr,  The  Ordination,  The  Address  to  the 
Unco  Guid.  The  proceeds  from  this  volume  ultimately 
made  Burns  the  possessor  of  about  500/.,  quite  a  little 
fortune  for  one  who,  as  he  himself  confesses,  had  never 
before  had  10/.  he  could  call  his  own.  It  would,  however, 
have  been  doubly  welcome  and  useful  to  him,  had  it  been 
paid  down  without  needless   delay.     But  unfortunately 


ii.]  FIRST  WINTER  IX  EDINBURGH.  69 

this  was  not  Creech's  way  of  transacting  business,  so  that 
Burns  was  kept  for  many  months  waiting  for  a  settle- 
ment—  months  during  which  he  could  not,  for  want  of 
money,  turn  to  any  fixed  employment,  and  which  were 
therefore  spent  by  him  unprofitably  enough. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BORDER    AND    HIGHLAND    TOURS. 

Some  small  instalments  of  the  profits  of  his  new  volume 
enabled  our  Poet,  during  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1787, 
to  make  several  tours  to  various  districts  of  Scotland,  fa- 
mous either  for  scenery  or  song.  The  day  of  regular  tour- 
ing had  not  yet  set  in,  and  few  Scots  at  that  time  would 
have  thought  of  visiting  what  Burns  called  the  classic 
scenes  of  their  country.  A  generation  before  this,  poets 
in  England  had  led  the  way  in  this — as  when  Gray  visited 
the  lakes  of  Cumberland,  and  Dr.  Johnson  the  Highlands 
and  the  Western  Isles.  In  his  ardour  to  look  upon  places 
famous  for  their  natural  beauty  or  their  historic  associa- 
tions, or  even  for  their  having  been  mentioned  in  some 
old  Scottish  song,  Burns  surpassed  both  Gray  and  John- 
son, and  anticipated  the  sentiment  of  the  present  century. 
Early  in  May  he  set  out  with  one  of  his  Crochallan  club 
acquaintances,  named  Ainslie,  on  a  journey  to  the  Border. 
Ainslie  was  a  native  of  the  Merse,  his  father  and  family 
living  in  Dunse.  Starting  thence  with  Ainslie,  Burns  trav- 
ersed the  greater  part  of  the  vale  of  Tweed  from  Cold- 
stream to  Peebles,  recalling,  as  he  went  along,  snatches  of 
song  connected  with  the  places  he  passed.  He  turned 
aside  to  see  the  valley  of  the  Jed,  and  got  as  far  as  Selkirk 
in  the  hope  of  looking  upon  Yarrow.  But  from  doing  this 
he  was  hindered  by  a  day  of  unceasing  rain,  and  he  who 


chap,  in.]  BORDER  AND  HIGHLAND  TOURS.  61 

was  so  soon  to  become  the  chief  singer  of  Scottish  song 
was  never  allowed  to  look  on  that  vale  which  has  long  been 
its  most  ideal  home.  Before  finishing  his  tour,  he  went  as 
far  as  Nithsdale,  and  surveyed  the  farm  of  Ellisland,  with 
some  thought  already  that  he  might  yet  become  the  ten- 
ant of  it. 

It  is  noteworthy,  but  not  wonderful,  that  the  scenes  vis- 
ited in  this  tour  called  forth  no  poetry  from  Burns,  save 
here  and  there  an  allusion  that  occurred  in  some  of  his 
later  songs.  When  we  remember  with  what  an  uneasy 
heart  Burns  left  Ayrshire  for  Edinburgh,  that  the  town 
life  he  had  there  led  for  the  last  six  months  had  done 
nothing  to  lighten — it  had  probably  done  something  to 
increase  the  load  of  his  mental  disquietude — that  in  an 
illness  which  he  had  during  his  tour  he  confesses  that 
"  embittering  remorse  was  scaring  his  fancy  at  the  gloomy 
forebodings  of  death,"  and  that  when  his  tour  was  over, 
soon  after  his  return  to  Edinburgh,  he  found  the  law  let 
loose  against  him,  and  what  was  called  a  "  fugae  "  warrant 
issued  for  his  apprehension,  owing  to  some  occurrence  like 
to  that  which  a  year  ago  had  terrified  him  with  legal  pen- 
alties, and  all  but  driven  him  to  Jamaica — when  all  these 
things  are  remembered,  is  it  to  be  wondered  that  Burns 
should  have  wandered  by  the  banks  of  Tweed,  in  no  mood 
to  chaunt  beside  it  "a  music  sweeter  than  its  own?" 

At  the  close  of  his  Border  tour  Burns  had,  as  we  have 
seen,  visited  Nithsdale  and  looked  at  the  farm  of  Ellisland. 
From  Nithsdale  he  made  his  way  back  to  native  Ayrshire 
and  his  family  at  Mossgiel.  I  have  heard  a  tradition  that 
his  mother  met  him  at  the  door  of  the  small  farm-house, 
with  this  only  salutation,  "  O  Robbie  !"  Neither  Lockhart 
nor  Chambers  mentions  this,  but  the  latter  says,  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Begg,  remembered  the  arrival  of  her  brother.      He 


62  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

came  in  unheralded,  and  was  in  the  midst  of  them  before 
they  knew.  It  was  a  quiet  meeting,  for  the  Mossgiel  fam- 
ily had  the  true  Scottish  reticence  or  reserve ;  but  though 
their  words  were  not  "  mony  feck,"  their  feelings  were 
strong.  It  was,  indeed,  as  strange  a  reverse  as  ever  was 
made  by  fortune's  fickle  wheel.  "  He  had  left  them,"  to 
quote  the  words  of  Lockhart,  "comparatively  unknown, 
his  tenderest  feelings  torn  and  wounded  by  the  behaviour 
of  the  Armours,  and  so  miserably  poor  that  he  had  been 
for  some  weeks  obliged  to  skulk  from  the  sheriff's  officers 
to  avoid  the  payment  of  a  paltry  debt.  He  returned,  his 
poetical  fame  established,  the  whole  country  ringing  with 
his  praise,  from  a  capital  in  which  he  was  known  to  have 
formed  the  wonder  and  delight  of  the  polite  and  the  learn- 
ed ;  if  not  rich,  yet  with  more  money  already  than  any  of 
his  kindred  had  ever  hoped  to  see  him  possess,  and  with 
prospects  of  future  patronage  and  permanent  elevation  in 
the  scale  of  society,  which  might  have  dazzled  steadier  eyes 
than  those  of  maternal  and  fraternal  affection.  The  proph- 
et had  at  last  honour  in  his  own  country,  but  the  haughty 
spirit  that  had  preserved  its  balance  in  Edinburgh  was  not 
likely  to  lose  it  at  Mauchline."  The  haughty  spirit  of 
which  Lockhart  speaks  was  reserved  for  others  than  his 
own  family.  To  them  we  hear  of  nothing  but  simple  af- 
fection. His  youngest  sister,  Mrs.  Begg,  told  Chambers, 
"  that  her  brother  went  to  Glasgow,  and  thence  sent  home 
a  present  to  his  mother  and  three  sisters,  namely,  a  quan- 
tity of  mode  silk,  enough  to  make  a  bonnet  and  a  cloak  to 
each,  and  a  gown  besides  to  his  mother  and  youngest  sis- 
ter." This  was  the  way  he  took  to  mark  their  right  to 
share  in  his  prosperity.  Mrs.  Begg  remembers  going  for 
rather  more  than  a  week  to  Ayr  to  assist  in  making  up 
the  dresses,  and  when  she  came  back  on  a  Saturday,  her 


ni.]  BORDER  AND  HIGHLAND  TOURS.  63 

brother  had  returned  and  requested  her  "to  put  on  her 
dress  that  he  might  see  how  smart  she  looked  in  it."  The 
thing  that  stirred  bis  pride  and  scorn  was  the  servility  with 
which  he  was  now  received  by  his  "  plebeian  brethren  "  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  chief  among  these  by  the  Armours, 
who  had  formerly  eyed  him  with  looks  askance.  If  any- 
thing "  had  been  wanting  to  disgust  me  completely  with 
Armour's  family,  their  mean,  servile  compliance  would  have 
done  it."  So  he  writes,  and  it  was  this  disgust  that  prompt- 
ed him  to  furnish  himself,  as  we  have  seen  he  did,  with  a 
pocket  copy  of  Milton,  to  study  the  character  of  Satan. 
This  fierce  indignation  was  towards  the  family ;  towards 
"  bonny  Jean  "  herself  his  feeling  was  far  other.  Having 
accidentally  met  her,  his  old  affection  revived,  and  they 
were  soon  as  intimate  as  of  old. 

After  a  short  time  spent  at  Mossgiel  wandering  about, 
and  once,  it  would  seem,  penetrating  the  West  Highlands 
as  far  as  Inverary,  a  journey  during  which  his  temper  seems 
to  have  been  far  from  serene,  he  returned  in  August  to 
Edinburgh.  There  he  encountered,  and  in  time  got  rid  of, 
the  law  troubles  already  alluded  to;  and  on  the  25th  of 
August  he  set  out,  on  a  longer  tour  than  any  he  had  yet 
attempted,  to  the  Northern  Highlands. 

The  travelling  companion  whom  he  chose  for  this  tour 
was  a  certain  Mr.  Nicol,  whose  acquaintance  he  seems  to 
have  first  formed  at  the  Crochallan  club,  or  some  other 
haunt  of  boisterous  joviality.  After  many  upa  and  downs 
in  life  Nicol  had  at  last,  by  dint  of  some  scholastic  ability, 
settled  as  a  master  of  the  Edinburgh  High  School.  What 
could  have  tempted  Burns  to  select  such  a  man  for  a  fel- 
low-traveller ?  He  was  cast  in  one  of  nature's  roughest 
moulds;  a  man  of  careless  habits,  coarse  manners,  enor- 
mous vanity,  of  most  irascible  and  violent  temper,  which 
30 


64  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

vented  itself  in  cruelties  on  the  poor  boys  who  were  the 
victims  of  his  care.  Burns  compared  himself  with  such  a 
companion  to  "  a  man  travelling  with  a  loaded  blunderbuss 
at  full  cock.1'  Two  things  only  are  mentioned  in  his  fa- 
vour, that  he  had  a  warm  heart,  and  an  unbounded  admira- 
tion of  the  poet.  But  the  choice  of  such  a  man  was  an 
unfortunate  one,  and  in  the  upshot  did  not  a  little  to  spoil 
both  the  pleasure  and  the  benefit  which  might  have  been 
gathered  from  the  tour. 

Their  journey  lay  by  Stirling  and  Crieff  to  Taymouth 
and  Breadalbane,  thence  to  Athole,  on  through  Badenoch 
and  Strathspey  to  Inverness.  The  return  by  the  east  coast 
was  through  the  counties  of  Moray  and  Banff  to  Aberdeen. 
After  visiting  the  county  whence  his  father  had  come,  and 
his  kindred  who  were  still  in  Kincardineshire,  Burns  and 
his  companion  passed  by  Perth  back  to  Edinburgh,  which 
they  reached  on  the  16th  of  September.  The  journey  oc- 
cupied only  two  and  twenty  days,  far  too  short  a  time  to 
see  so  much  country,  besides  making  several  visits,  with 
any  advantage.  During  his  Border  tour  Burns  had  ridden 
his  Rosinante  mare,  which  he  had  named  Jenny  Geddes. 
As  his  friend,  the  schoolmaster,  was  no  equestrian,  Burns 
was  obliged  to  make  his  northern  journey  in  a  post-chaise, 
not  the  best  way  of  taking  in  the  varied  and  ever-chang- 
ing sights  and  sounds  of  Highland  scenery. 

Such  a  tour  as  this,  if  Burns  could  have  entered  on  it 
under  happier  auspices,  that  is,  with  a  heart  at  ease,  a  fit- 
ting companion,  and  leisure  enough  to  view  quietly  the 
scenes  through  which  he  passed,  and  to  enjoy  the  society 
of  the  people  whom  he  met,  could  not  have  failed,  from 
its  own  interestingness,  and  its  novelty  to  him,  to  have  en- 
riched his  imagination,  and  to  have  called  forth  some  last- 
ing memorials.     As  it  was,  it  cannot  be  said  to  have  done 


in.]  BORDER  AND  HIGHLAND  TOURS.  66 

either.  There  are,  however,  a  few  incidents  which  are 
worth  noting.  The  first  of  these  took  place  at  Stirling. 
Burns  and  his  companion  had  ascended  the  Castle  Rock, 
to  look  on  the  blue  mountain  rampart  that  flanks  the 
Highlands  from  Ben  Lomond  to  Benvoirlich.  As  they 
were  both  strongly  attached  to  the  Stuart  cause,  they  had 
seen  with  indignation,  on  the  slope  of  the  Castle  hill,  the 
ancient  hall,  in  which  the  Scottish  kings  once  held  their 
Parliaments,  lying  ruinous  and  neglected.  On  returning 
to  their  inn,  Burns,  with  a  diamond  he  had  bought  for 
such  purposes,  wrote  on  the  window  -  pane  of  his  room 
some  lines  expressive  of  the  disgust  he  had  felt  at  that 
sight,  concluding  with  some  offensive  remarks  on  the 
reigning  family.  The  lines,  which  had  no  poetic  merit, 
got  into  the  newspapers  of  the  day,  and  caused  a  good 
deal  of  comment.  On  a  subsequent  visit  to  Stirling,  Burns 
himself  broke  the  pane  of  the  window  on  which  the  ob- 
noxious lines  were  written,  but  they  were  remembered,  it 
is  said,  long  afterwards  to  his  disadvantage. 

Among  the  pleasantest  incidents  of  the  tour  was  the 
visit  to  Blair  Castle,  and  his  reception  by  the  Duchess  of 
Athole.  The  two  days  he  spent  there  he  declared  were 
among  the  happiest  of  his  life.  We  have  seen  how  sensi- 
tive Burns  was  to  the  way  he  was  received  by  the  great. 
Resentful  as  he  was  equally  of  condescension  and  of  neg- 
lect, it  must  have  been  no  easy  matter  for  persons  of  rank 
so  to  adapt  their  manner  as  to  exactly  please  him.  But 
his  hosts  at  Blair  Castle  succeeded  to  admiration  in  this. 
They  were  assisted  by  the  presence  at  the  Castle  of  Mr., 
afterwards  Professor,  Walker,  who  had  known  Burns  in 
Edinburgh,  and  was  during  that  autumn  living  as  a  tutor 
in  the  Duke's  family.  At  dinner  Burns  was  in  his  most 
pleasing  vein,  and  delighted  his  hostess  by  drinking  to  the 

4 


66  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

health  of  her  group  of  fair  young  children,  as  "  honest  men 
and  bonny  lassies  " — an  expression  with  which  he  happily 
closes  his  Petition  of  Bruar  Water.  The  Duchess  had  her 
two  sisters,  Mrs.  Graham  and  Miss  Cathcart,  staying  with 
her  on  a  visit,  and  all  three  ladies  were  delighted  with  the 
conversation  of  the  poet.  These  three  sisters  were  daugh- 
ters of  a  Lord  Cathcart,  and  were  remarkable  for  their 
beauty.  The  second,  Mrs.  Graham,  has  been  immortalized 
as  the  subject  of  one  of  Gainsborough's  most  famous  por- 
traits. On  her  early  death  her  husband,  Thomas  Graham 
of  Balnagown,  never  again  looked  on  that  beautiful  picture, 
but  left  his  home  for  a  soldier's  life,  distinguished  himself 
greatly  in  the  Peninsular  War,  and  was  afterwards  known 
as  Lord  Lynedoch.  After  his  death,  the  picture  passed 
to  his  nearest  relatives,  who  presented  it  to  the  National 
Portrait  Gallery  of  Scotland,  of  which  it  is  now  the  chief 
ornament.  All  three  sisters  soon  passed  away,  having 
died  even  before  the  short-lived  poet.  By  their  beauty 
and  their  agreeableness  they  charmed  Burns,  and  did  much 
to  make  his  visit  delightful.  They  themselves  were  not 
less  pleased ;  for  when  the  poet  proposed  to  leave,  after 
two  days  were  over,  they  pressed  him  exceedingly  to  stay, 
and  even  sent  a  messenger  to  the  hotel  to  persuade  the 
driver  of  Burns's  chaise  to  pull  off  one  of  the  horse's  shoes, 
that  his  departure  might  be  delayed.  Burns  himself  would 
willingly  have  listened  to  their  entreaties,  but  his  travelling 
mate  was  inexorable.  Likely  enough  Nicol  had  not  been 
made  so  much  of  as  the  poet,  and  this  was  enough  to  rouse 
his  irascible  temper.  For  one  day  he  had  been  persuaded 
to  stay  by  the  offer  of  good  trout-fishing,  which  he  great- 
ly relished,  but  now  he  insisted  on  being  off.  Burns  was 
reluctantly  forced  to  yield. 

This  rapid  departure  was  the  more  unfortunate  because 


in.]  BORDER  AND  HIGHLAND  TOURS.  67 

Mr.  Dundas,  who  held  the  keys  of  Scottish  patronage,  was 
expected  on  a  visit  to  Blair,  and  had  he  met  the  poet  he 
might  have  wiped  out  the  reproach  often  cast  on  the  min- 
istry of  the  day,  that  they  failed  in  their  duty  towards 
Burns.  "That  eminent  statesman,"  as  Lockhart  says, 
"  was,  though  little  addicted  to  literature,  a  warm  lover  of 
his  own  country,  and,  in  general,  of  whatever  redounded 
to  her  honour ;  he  was,  moreover,  very  especially  qualified 
to  appreciate  Burns  as  a  companion ;  and  had  such  an  in- 
troduction taken  place,  he  might  not  improbably  have  been 
induced  to  bestow  that  consideration  on  the  claims  of  the 
poet,  which,  in  the  absence  of  any  personal  acquaintance, 
Burns's  works  ought  to  have  received  at  his  hands."  But 
during  that  visit  Burns  met,  and  made  the  acquaintance 
of,  another  man  of  some  influence,  Mr.  Graham  of  Fintray, 
whose  friendship  afterwards,  both  in  the  Excise  business, 
and  in  other  matters,  stood  him  in  good  stead.  The  Duke, 
as  he  bade  farewell  to  Burns  at  Blair,  advised  him  to  turn 
aside,  and  see  the  Falls  of  the  Bruar,  about  six  miles  from 
the  Castle,  where  that  stream  coming  down  from  its  moun- 
tains plunges  over  some  high  precipices,  and  passes  through 
a  rocky  gorge  to  join  the  River  Garry.  Burns  did  so,  and 
finding  the  falls  entirely  bare  of  wood,  wrote  some  lines 
entitled  The  Humble  Petition  of  Bruar  Water,  in  which 
he  makes  the  stream  entreat  the  Duke  to  clothe  its  na- 
ked banks  with  trees.  The  poet's  petition  for  the  stream 
was  not  in  vain.  The  then  Duke  of  Athole  was  famous 
as  a  planter  of  trees,  and  those  with  which,  after  the 
poet's  Petition,  he  surrounded  the  waterfall  remain  to  this 
day. 

After  visiting  Cullodeu  Muir,  the  Fall  of  Fyers,  Kilra- 
vock  Castle,  where,  but  for  the  impatience  of  Mr.  Nicol,  he 
would  fain  have  prolonged  his  stay,  he  came  on  to  Focha- 


68  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

bers  and  Gordon  Castle.  This  is  Burns's  entry  in  his  di- 
ary : — "  Cross  Spey  to  Fochabers,  fine  palace,  worthy  of 
the  noble,  the  polite,  and  generous  proprietor.  The  Duke 
makes  me  happier  than  ever  great  man  did ;  noble,  prince- 
ly, yet  mild  and  condescending  and  affable — gay  and  kind. 
The  Duchess,  charming,  witty,  kind,  and  sensible.  God 
bless  them  !" 

Here,  too,  as  at  Blair,  the  ducal  hosts  seem  to  have  en- 
tirely succeeded  in  making  Burns  feel  at  ease,  and  wish  to 
protract  his  visit.  But  here,  too,  more  emphatically  than 
at  Blair,  his  friend  spoilt  the  game.  This  is  the  account 
of  the  incident,  as  given  by  Lockhart,  with  a  few  additions 
interpolated  from  Chambers : 

"  Burns,  who  had  been  much  noticed  by  this  noble  fam- 
ily when  in  Edinburgh,  happened  to  present  himself  at 
Gordon  Castle  just  at  the  dinner-hour,  and  being  invited 
to  take  a  place  at  the  table,  did  so,  without  for  a  moment 
adverting  to  the  circumstance  that  his  travelling  compan- 
ion had  been  left  alone  at  the  inn,  in  the  adjacent  village. 
On  remembering  this  soon  after  dinner,  he  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  rejoin  his  friend;  and  the  Duke  of  Gordon, 
who  now  for  the  first  time  learned  that  he  was  not  jour- 
neying alone,  immediately  proposed  to  send  an  invitation 
to  Mr.  Nicol  to  come  to  the  Castle.  His  Grace  sent  a 
messenger  to  bear  it;  but  Burns  insisted  on  himself  ac- 
companying him.  They  found  the  haughty  schoolmaster 
striding  up  and  down  before  the  inn-door  in  a  high  state 
of  wrath  and  indignation  at,  what  he  considered,  Burns's 
neglect,  and  no  apologies  could  soften  his  mood.  He  had 
already  ordered  horses,  and  was  venting  his  anger  on  the 
postillion  for  the  slowness  with  which  he  obeyed  his  com- 
mands. The  poet,  finding  that  he  must  choose  between 
the  ducal  circle  and  his  irascible  associate,  at  once  chose 


m]  BORDER  AND  HIGHLAND  TOURS.  69 

the  latter  alternative.  Nicol  and  be,  in  silence  and  mut- 
ual displeasure,  seated  themselves  in  the  post-chaise,  and 
turned  their  backs  on  Gordon  Castle,  where  the  poet  had 
promised  himself  some  happy  days.  This  incident  may 
serve  to  suggest  some  of  the  annoyances  to  which  persons 
moving,  like  our  poet,  on  the  debatable  land  between  two 
different  ranks  of  society  must  ever  be  subjected."  "  To 
play  the  lion  under  such  circumstances  must,"  as  the  know- 
ing Lockhart  observes,  "  be  difficult  at  the  best ;  but  a  del- 
icate business  indeed,  when  the  jackals  are  presumptuous. 
The  pedant  could  not  stomach  the  superior  success  of  his 
friend,  and  yet — alas  for  poor  human  nature ! — he  certainly 
was  one  of  the  most  enthusiastic  of  his  admirers,  and  one 
of  the  most  affectionate  of  all  his  intimates."  It  seems 
that  the  Duchess  of  Gordon  had  some  hope  that  her  friend, 
Mr.  Addington,  afterwards  Lord  Sidmouth  and  the  future 
premier,  would  have  visited  at  Gordon  Castle  while  Burns 
was  there.  Mr.  Addington  was,  Allan  Cunningham  tells 
us,  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  Burns' s  poetry,  and  took 
pleasure  in  quoting  it  to  Pitt  and  Melville.  On  that  oc- 
casion he  was  unfortunately  not  able  to  accept  the  invita- 
tion of  the  Duchess,  but  he  forwarded  to  her  "  these  mem- 
orable lines  —  memorable  as  the  first  indication  of  that 
deep  love  which  England  now  entertains  for  the  genius  of 
Burns :" 

"Yes!  pride  of  Scotia's  favoured  plains,  'tis  thine 
The  warmest  feelings  of  the  heart  to  move ; 
To  bid  it  throb  with  sympathy  divine, 
To  glow  with  friendship,  or  to  melt  with  love. 

"  What  though  each  morning  sees  thee  rise  to  toil, 
Though  Plenty  on  thy  cot  no  blessing  showers, 
Yet  Independence  cheers  thee  with  her  smile, 
And  Fancy  strews  thy  moorland  with  her  flowers 


70  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chae 

"  And  dost  thou  blame  the  impartial  will  of  Heaven, 
Untaught  of  life  the  good  and  ill  to  scan  ? 
To  thee  the  Muse's  choicest  wreath  is  given — 
To  thee  the  genuine  dignity  of  man ! 

"  Then  to  the  want  of  worldly  gear  resigned, 
Be  grateful  for  the  wealth  of  thy  exhaustless  mind." 

It  was  well  enough  for  Mr.  Addington,  and  such  as  he, 
to  advise  Burns  to  be  content  with  the  want  of  worldly 
gear,  and  to  refer  him  for  consolation  to  the  dignity  of 
man  and  the  wealth  of  his  exhaustless  mind.  Burns  had 
abundance  of  such  sentiments  in  himself  to  bring  forth, 
when  occasion  required.  He  did  not  need  to  be  replen- 
ished with  these  from  the  stores  of  men  who  held  the 
keys  of  patronage.  What  he  wanted  from  them  was 
some  solid  benefit,  such  as  they  now  and  then  bestowed 
on  their  favourites,  but  which  unfortunately  they  with- 
held from  Burns. 

An  intelligent  boy,  who  was  guide  to  Burns  and  Nicol 
from  Cullen  to  Duff  House,  gave  long  afterwards  his  re- 
membrances of  that  day.  Among  these  this  occurs.  The 
boy  was  asked  by  Nicol  if  he  had  read  Burns' s  poems,  and 
which  of  them  he  liked  best.  The  boy  replied,  " '  I  was 
much  entertained  with  The  Twa  Dogs  and  Death  and  Dr. 
Hornbook,  but  I  like  best  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  al- 
though it  made  me  greet  when  my  father  had  me  to  read 
it  to  my  mother.'  Burns,  with  a  sudden  start,  looked  at 
my  face  intently,  and  patting  my  shoulder,  said,  '  Well, 
my  callant,  I  don't  wonder  at  your  greeting  at  reading  the 
poem  ;  it  made  me  greet  more  than  once  when  I  was  writ- 
ing it  at  my  father's  fireside.'  "... 

On  the  16th  of  September,  1787,  the  two  travellers  re- 
turned to  Edinburgh.  This  tour  produced  little  poetry 
directly,  and  what  it  did  produce  was  not  of  a  high  order. 


m.J  BORDER  AND  HIGHLAND  TOURS.  71 

In  this  respect  one  cannot  but  contrast  it  with  the  poetic 
results  of  another  tour  made,  partly  over  the  same  ground, 
by  another  poet,  less  than  twenty  years  after  this  time. 
When  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  made  their  first  visit  to 
Scotland  in  1803,  it  called  forth  some  strains  of  such  per* 
feet  beauty  as  will  live  while  the  English  language  lasts. 
Burns's  poetic  fame  would  hardly  be  diminished  if  all  that 
he  wrote  on  his  tours  were  obliterated  from  his  works. 
Perhaps  we  ought  to  except  some  allusions  in  his  future 
songs,  and  especially  that  grand  song,  Macphersori 's  .Fare- 
well, which,  though  composed  several  months  after  this 
tour  was  over,  must  have  drawn  its  materials  from  the  day 
spent  at  Duff  House,  where  he  was  shown  the  sword  of 
the  Highland  Reiver. 

But  look  at  the  lines  composed  after  his  first  sight  of 
Breadalbane,  which  he  left  in  the  inn  at  Kenmore.  These 
Lockhart  has  pronounced  among  "  the  best  of  his  purely 
English  heroics  "  If  so,  we  can  but  say  how  poor  are  the 
best!     What  is  to  be  thought  of  such  linos  n* 

"Poetic  ardours  hi  uay  bosom  swell, 
Lone  wandering  by  the  hermit's  mossy  cell,"  etc.,  etc. 

Nor  less  stilted,  forced,  aud  artificial  are  the  lines  in  the 
same  measure  written  at  the  Fall  of  Fyers. 

The  truth  is,  that  Burns's  forte  by  no  means  lay  in  de- 
scribing scenery  alone,  and  for  its  own  sake.  All  his  real- 
ly inspired  descriptions  of  it  occur  as  adjuncts  to  human 
incident  or  feeling,  slips  of  landscape  let  in  as  a  back- 
ground. Ao-ain,  as  Burns  was  never  at  his  best  when 
called  on  to  write  for  occasions  —  no  really  spontaneous 
poet  ever  can  be  —  so  when  taken  to  see  much  talked-of 
scenes,  and  expected  to  express  poetic  raptures  over  them, 
Burns  did  not  answer  to  the  call. 


72  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

"  He  disliked,"  we  are  told,  "  to  be  tutored  in  matters 
of  taste,  and  could  not  endure  that  one  should  run  shout- 
ing before  him,  whenever  any  fine  object  came  in  sight." 
On  one  occasion  of  this  kind,  a  lady  at  the  poet's  side 
said,  "  Burns,  have  you  nothing  to  say  of  this  ?"  "  Noth- 
ing, madam,"  he  replied,  glancing  at  the  leader  of  the 
party,  "  for  an  ass  is  braying  over  it."  Burns  is  not  the 
only  person  who  has  suffered  from  this  sort  of  officious- 
ness. 

Besides  this,  the  tours  were  not  made  in  the  way  which 
most  conduces  to  poetic  composition.  He  did  not  allow 
himself  the  quiet  and  the  leisure  from  interruption  which 
are  needed.  It  was  not  with  such  companions  as  Ainslie 
or  Nicol  by  his  side  that  the  poet's  eye  discovered  new 
beauty  in  the  sight  of  a  solitai'y  reaper  in  a  Highland  glen, 
and  his  ear  caught  magical  suggestiveness  in  the  words, 
"  What !  you  are  stepping  westward,"  heard  by  the  even- 
ing lake. 

Another  hindrance  to  happy  poetic  description  by  Burns 
during  these  journeys  was  that  he  had  now  forsaken  his 
native  vernacular,  and  taken  to  writing  in  English  after 
the  mode  of  the  poets  of  the  day.  This  with  him  was  to 
unclothe  himself  of  his  true  strength.  His  correspondent, 
Dr.  Moore,  and  his  Edinburgh  critics  had  no  doubt  coun- 
selled him  to  write  in  English,  and  he  listened  for  a  time 
too  easily  to  their  counsel.  He  and  they  little  knew  what 
they  were  doing  in  giving  and  taking  such  advice.  The 
truth  is,  when  he  used  his  own  Scottish  dialect  he  was  un- 
approached,  unapproachable;  no  poet  before  or  since  has 
evoked  out  of  that  instrument  so  perfect  and  so  varied 
melodies.  When  he  wrote  in  English  he  was  seldom  more 
than  third-rate ;  in  fact,  he  was  but  a  common  clever  versi- 
fier.    There  is  but  one  purely  English  poem  of  his  which 


in.]  BORDER  AND  HIGHLAND  TOURS.  73 

at  all  approaches  the  first  rank  —  the  lines  To  Mary  in 
Heaven. 

These  may  probably  have  been  the  reasons,  but  the  fact 
is  certain  that  Burns's  tours  are  disappointing  in  their 
direct  poetic  fruits.  But  in  another  way  Burns  turned 
them  to  good  account.  He  had  by  that  time  begun  to 
devote  himself  almost  entirely  to  the  cultivation  of  Scot- 
tish song.  This  was  greatly  encouraged  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Johnsons  Museum,  a  publication  in  which  an  en- 
graver of  that  name  living  in  Edinburgh  had  undertaken 
to  make  a  thorough  collection  of  all  the  best  of  the  old 
Scottish  songs,  accompanying  them  with  the  best  airs,  and 
to  add  to  these  any  new  songs  of  merit  which  he  could 
lay  hands  on.  Before  Burns  left  Edinburgh  for  his  Bor- 
der tour,  he  had  begun  an  acquaintance  and  correspond- 
ence with  Johnson,  and  had  supplied  him  with  four  songs 
of  his  own  for  the  first  volume  of  The  Museum.  The 
second  volume  was  now  in  progress,  and  his  labors  for 
this  publication,  and  for  another  of  the  same  kind  to  be 
afterwards  mentioned,  henceforth  engrossed  Burns's  entire 
productive  faculty,  and  were  to  be  his  only  serious  literary 
work  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  He  therefore  employed  the 
Highland  tour  in  hearing  all  he  could,  that  had  any  bear- 
ing on  his  now  absorbing  pursuit,  and  in  collecting  mate- 
rials that  might  promote  it.  "With  this  view,  when  on  his 
way  from  Taymouth  to  Blair,  he  had  turned  aside  to  visit 
the  famous  fiddler  and  composer  of  Scotch  tunes,  Neil 
Gow,  at  his  house,  which  is  still  pointed  out,  at  Inver,  on 
the  Braan  Water,  opposite  the  grounds  of  Dunkeld.  This 
is  the  entry  about  him  in  Burns's  diary :  —  "  Neil  Gow 
plays — a  short,  stout-built,  honest  Highland  figure,  with  his 
grey  hair  shed  on  his  honest  social  brow  ;  an  interesting 
face  marking  strong  sense,  kind  open-heartedness,  mixed 

4* 


H  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

with  unmistrusting  simplicity ;  visit  his  house ;  Margaret 
Gow."  It  is  interesting  to  think  of  this  meeting  of  these 
two — the  one  a  Lowlander,  the  other  a  Highlander ;  the 
one  the  greatest  composer  of  words,  the  other  of  tunes, 
for  Scottish  songs,  which  their  country  has  produced. 

As  he  passed  through  Aberdeen,  Burns  met  Bishop 
Skinner,  a  Bishop  of  the  Scottish  Episcopal  Church ;  and 
when  he  learnt  that  the  Bishop's  father,  the  author  of  the 
song  of  Tulloch-gorum,  and  The  Ernie  wi?  the  crookit  horn, 
and  other  Scottish  songs,  was  still  alive,  an  aged  Episco- 
palian clergyman,  living  in  primitive  simplicity  in  a  but 
and  a  ben  at  Lishart,  near  Peterhead,  and  that  on  his  way 
to  Aberdeen  he  had  passed  near  the  place  without  know- 
ing it,  Burns  expressed  the  greatest  regret  at  having  miss- 
ed seeing  the  author  of  songs  he  so  greatly  admired. 
Soon  after  his  return  to  Edinburgh,  he  received  from  old 
Mr.  Skinner  a  rhyming  epistle,  which  greatly  pleased  the 
poet,  and  to  which  he  replied — "  I  regret,  and  while  I  live 
shall  regret,  that  when  I  was  north  I  had  not  the  pleasure 
of  paying  a  younger  brother's  dutiful  respect  to  the  author 
of  the  best  Scotch  song  ever  Scotland  saw,  Tulloch-gorum  s 
my  delight."  This  is  strong,  perhaps  too  strong  praise. 
Allan  Cunningham,  in  his  Songs  of  Scotland,  thus  freely 
comments  on  it : — "  Tulloch-gorum  is  a  lively  clever  song, 
but  I  would  never  have  edited  this  collection  had  I  thought 
with  Burns  that  it  is  the  best  song  Scotland  ever  saw.  I 
may  say  with  the  king  in  my  favourite  ballad — 

"  I  trust  I  have  within  my  realm, 
Five  hundred  good  as  he." 

We  also  find  Burns,  on  his  return  to  Edinburgh,  writing 
to  the  librarian  at  Gordon  Castle  to  obtain  from  him  a 
correct  copy  of  a  Scotch  song  composed  by  the  Duke,  in 


in.]       BORDER  AND  HIGHLAND  TOURS.        73 

the  current  vernacular  style,  Cauld  Kail  in  Aberdeen.  This 
correct  copy  he  wished  to  insert  in  the  forthcoming  vol- 
ume of  Johnson's  Museum,  with  the  name  of  the  author 
appended. 

At  Perth  he  made  inquiries,  we  are  told,  "  as  to  the 
whereabouts  of  the  burn-brae  on  which  be  the  graves  of 
Bessy  Bell  and  Mary  Gray."  Whether  he  actually  visited 
the  spot,  near  the  Almond  Water,  ten  miles  west  of  Perth, 
is  left  uncertain.  The  pathetic  story  of  these  two  hapless 
maidens,  and  the  fine  old  song  founded  on  it,  had  made  it 
to  him  a  consecrated  spot. 

"  0  Bessy  Bell  and  Mary  Gray  ? 
They  were  twa  bonny  lasses, 
They  biggit  a  bower  on  yon  burn-brae, 
And  theekit  it  owre  wi'  rashes," 

is  the  beginning  of  a  beautiful  song  which  Allan  Kamsay 
did  his  best  to  spoil,  as  he  did  in  many  another  instance. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  afterwards  recovered  some  of  the  old 
verses  which  Ramsay's  had  superseded,  and  repeated  them 
to  Allan  Cunningham,  who  gives  them  in  his  Songs  of 
Scotland.  Whether  Burns  knew  any  more  of  the  song 
than  the  one  old  verse  given  above,  with  Ramsay's  append- 
ed to  it,  is  more  than  doubtful. 

As  he  passed  through  Perth  he  secured  an  introduction 
to  the  family  of  Belches  of  Invermay,  that,  on  crossing  the 
River  Earn  on  his  southward  journey,  he  might  be  enabled 
to  see  the  little  valley,  running  down  from  the  Ochils  to 
the  Earn,  which  has  been  consecrated  by  the  old  and  well- 
known  song,  The  Birks  of  Invermay. 

It  thus  appears  that  the  old  songs  of  Scotland,  their 

localities,  their   authors,  and  the   incidents  whence   they 

arose,  were   now  uppermost  in  the   thoughts   of  Burns,. 
P 


Y6  KOBEKT  BCKNS.  [chap. 

whatever  part  of  his  country  he  visited.  This  was  as  in- 
tense and  as  genuinely  poetical  an  interest,  though  a  more 
limited  one,  than  that  with  which  Walter  Scott's  eye  af- 
terwards ranged  over  the  same  scenes.  The  time  was  not 
yet  full  come  for  that  wide  and  varied  sympathy,  with 
which  Scott  surveyed  the  whole  past  of  his  country's  his- 
tory, nor  was  Burns's  nature  or  training  such  as  to  give 
him  that  catholicity  of  feeling  which  was  required  to  sym- 
pathize, as  Scott  did,  with  all  ranks  and  all  ages.  Neither 
could  he  have  so  seized  on  the  redeeming  virtues  of  rude 
and  half -barbarous  times,  and  invested  them  with  that  halo 
of  romance  which  Scott  has  thrown  over  them.  This  ro- 
mantic and  chivalrous  colouring  was  an  element  altogether 
alien  to  Burns's  character.  But  it  may  well  be,  that  these 
very  limitations  intensified  the  depth  and  vividness  of 
sympathy  with  which  Burns  conceived  the  human  situa- 
tions portrayed  in  his  best  songs. 

There  was  one  more  brief  tour  of  ten  days  during  Octo- 
ber, 1787,  which  Burns  made  in  the  company  of  Dr.  Adair. 
They  passed  first  to  Stirling,  where  Burns  broke  the  ob- 
noxious pane ;  then  paid  a  second  visit  to  Harvieston,  near 
Dollar — for  Burns  had  paid  a  flying  visit  of  one  day  there, 
at  the  end  of  August,  before  passing  northward  to  the 
Highlands — where  Burns  introduced  his  friend,  and  seems 
to  have  flirted  with  some  Ayrshire  young  ladies,  relations 
of  his  friend  Gavin  Hamilton.  Thence  they  passed  on  a 
visit  to  Mr.  Ramsay  at  Ochtertyre,  on  the  Teith,  a  few 
miles  west  from  Stirling.  They  then  visited  Sir  William 
Murray  at  Ochtertyre,  in  Strathearn,  where  Burns  wrote  his 
Lines  on  scaring  some  waterfowl  in  Lock  Turit,  and  a  pret- 
ty pastoral  song  on  a  young  beauty  he  met  there,  Miss 
Murray  of  Lintrose.  From  Strathearn  he  next  seems  to 
have  returned  by  Clackmannan,  there  to  visit  the  old  lady 


hi.]  BORDER  AND  HIGHLAND  TOURS.  11 

who  lived  in  the  Tower,  of  whom  he  had  heard  from  Mr. 
Ramsay.  In  this  short  journey  the  most  memorable  thing 
was  the  visit  to  Mr.  Ramsay  at  his  picturesque  old  country 
seat,  situate  on  the  River  Teith,  and  commanding,  down  the 
vista  of  its  old  lime-tree  avenue,  so  romantic  a  view  of 
Stirling  Castle  rock.  There  Burns  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Mr.  Ramsay,  the  laird,  and  was  charmed  with  the  con- 
versation of  that  "  last  of  the  Scottish  line  of  Latinists, 
which  began  with  Buchanan  and  ended  with  Gregory  " — 
an  antiquary,  moreover,  whose  manners  and  home  Lock- 
hart  thinks  that  Sir  Walter  may  have  had  in  his  recollec- 
tion when  he  drew  the  character  of  Monkbarns.  Years 
afterwards,  in  a  letter  addressed  to  Dr.  Currie,  Ramsay 
thus  wrote  of  Burns : — "  I  have  been  in  the  company  of 
many  men  of  genius,  some  of  them  poets,  but  I  never  wit- 
nessed such  flashes  of  intellectual  brightness  as  from  him, 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  sparks  of  celestial  fire.  I 
never  was  more  delighted,  therefore,  than  with  his  com- 
pany two  days  tete-a-tete.  In  a  mixed  company  I  should 
have  made  little  of  him  ;  for,  to  use  a  gamester's  phrase,  he 
did  not  know  when  to  play  off,  and  when  to  play  on.  .  .  . 
When  I  asked  whether  the  Edinburgh  literati  had  mended 
his  poems  by  their  criticisms,  'Sir,'  said  he,  'these  gen- 
tlemen remind  me  of  some  spinsters  in  my  country,  who 
spin  their  thread  so  fine,  that  it  is  neither  fit  for  weft  nor 
woof.' " 

There  are  other  incidents  recorded  of  that  time. 
Among  these  was  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Bruce,  an  old  Scottish 
dame  of  ninety,  who  lived  in  the  ancient  Tower  of  Clack- 
mannan, upholding  her  dignity  as  the  lineal  descendant 
and  representative  of  the  family  of  King  Robert  Bruce, 
and  cherishing  the  strongest  attachment  to  the  exiled 
Stuarts.     Both  of  these  sentiments  found  a  readv  response 


•78  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

from  Burns.  The  one  was  exemplified  by  the  old  lady 
conferring  knighthood  on  him  and  his  companion  with 
the  actual  sword  of  King  Robert,  which  she  had  in  her 
possession,  remarking,  as  she  did  it,  that  she  had  a  better 
right  to  confer  the  title  than  some  folk.  Another  senti- 
ment she  charmed  the  poet  by  expressing  in  the  toast  she 
gave  after  dinner,  " Hooi  Uncos"  that  is,  Away  Strangers, 
a  word  used  by  shepherds  when  they  bid  their  collies  drive 
away  strange  sheep.  Who  the  strangers  were  in  this  case 
may  be  guessed  from  her  known  Jacobite  sentiments. 

On  his  way  from  Clackmannan  to  Edinburgh  he  turned 
aside  to  see  Loch  Leven  and  its  island  castle,  which  had 
been  the  prison  of  the  hapless  Mary  Stuart;  and  thence 
passing  to  the  Norman  Abbey  Church  of  Dunfermline, 
with  deep  emotion  he  looked  on  the  grave  of  Robert 
Bruce.  At  that  time  the  choir  of  the  old  church,  which 
had  contained  the  grave,  had  been  long  demolished,  and 
the  new  structure  which  now  covers  it  had  not  yet  been 
thought  of.  The  sacred  spot  was  only  marked  by  two 
broad  flagstones,  on  which  Burns  knelt  and  kissed  them, 
reproaching  the  while  the  barbarity  that  had  so  dishonour- 
ed the  resting-place  of  Scotland's  hero  king.  Then,  with 
that  sudden  change  of  mood  so  characteristic  of  him,  he 
passed  within  the  ancient  church,  and  mounting  the  pul- 
pit, addressed  to  his  companion,  who  had,  at  his  desire, 
mounted  the  cutty  stool,  or  seat  of  repentance,  a  parody 
of  the  rebuke  which  he  himself  had  undergone  some  time 
before  at  Mauchliue. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SECOND    WINTER    IN    EDINBURGH. 

These  summer  and  autumn  wanderings  ended,  Burns  re- 
turned to  Edinburgh,  and  spent  there  the  next  five  months, 
from  the  latter  part  of  October,  1*787,  till  the  end  of 
March,  1788,  in  a  way  which  to  any  man,  much  more  to 
such  an  one  as  he,  could  give  small  satisfaction.  The  os- 
tensible cause  of  his  lingering  in  Edinburgh  was  to  obtain 
a  settlement  with  his  procrastinating  publisher,  Creech,  be- 
cause, till  this  was  effected,  he  had  no  money  with  which 
to  enter  on  the  contemplated  farm,  or  on  any  other  regu- 
lar way  of  life.  Probably  in  thus  wasting  his  time,  Burns 
may  have  been  influenced  more  than  he  himself  was  aware, 
by  a  secret  hope  that  something  might  yet  be  done  for 
him — that  all  the  smiles  lavished  on  him  by  the  great  and 
powerful  could  not  possibly  mean  nothing,  and  that  he 
should  be  left  to  drudge  on  in  poverty  and  obscurity  as 
before. 

During  this  winter  Burns  changed  his  quarters  from 
Richmond's  lodging  in  High  Street,  where  he  had  lived 
during  the  former  winter,  to  a  house  then  marked  2,  now 
30,  St.  James's  Square  in  the  New  Town.  There  he  lived 
with  a  Mr.  Cruikshank,  a  colleague  of  his  friend  Nicol  in 
the  High  School,  and  there  he  continued  to  reside  till  he 
left  Edinburgh.  More  than  once  he  paid  brief  visits  to 
Nithsdale,  and  examined  again  and  yet  again  the  farm  on 


80  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

the  Dais w  intern  property,  on  which  he  had  long  had  his 
eye.  This  was  his  only  piece  of  serious  business  during 
those  months.  The  rest  of  his  time  was  spent  more  or 
less  in  the  society  of  his  jovial  companions.  We  hear  no 
more  during  this  second  winter  of  his  meetings  with  lit- 
erary professors,  able  advocates  and  judges,  or  fashionable 
ladies.  His  associates  seem  to  have  been  rather  confined 
to  men  of  the  Ainslie  and  Nicol  stamp.  He  would  seem 
also  to  have  amused  himself  with  flirtations  with  several 
young  heroines,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  during 
the  previous  summer.  The  chief  of  these  were  two  young 
ladies,  Miss  Margaret  Chalmers  and  Miss  Charlotte  Hamil- 
ton, cousins  of  each  other,  and  relatives  of  his  Mauchline 
friend,  Gavin  Hamilton.  These  he  had  met  during  the 
two  visits  which  he  paid  to  Harvieston,  on  the  River  Dev- 
on, where  they  were  living  for  a  time.  On  his  return  to 
Edinburgh  he  continued  to  correspond  with  them  both, 
and  to  address  songs  of  affection,  if  not  of  love,  now  to 
one,  now  to  another.  To  Charlotte  Hamilton  he  addressed 
the  song  beginning — 

"  How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clear  winding  Devon ;" 

To  Miss  Chalmers,  one  with  the  opening  lines — 

"  Where,  braving  angry  winter's  storms, 
The  lofty  Ochils  rise  ;" 

And  another  beginning  thus — 

"My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form." 

Which  of  these  young  ladies  was  foremost  in  Burns's  af- 
fection, it  is  not  easy  now  to  say,  nor  does  it  much  signify. 
To  both  he  wrote  some  of  his  best  letters,  and  some  of  not 
his  best  verses.     Allan  Cunningham  thinks  that  he  had 


IT.]  SECOND  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  81 

serious  affection  for  Miss  Hamilton.  The  latest  editor  of 
his  works  asserts  that  his  heart  was  set  on  Miss  Chalmers, 
and  that  she,  long  afterwards  in  her  widowhood,  told  Thom- 
as Campbell,  the  poet,  that  Burns  had  made  a  proposal  of 
marriage  to  her.  However  this  may  be,  it  is  certain  that 
while  both  admitted  him  to  friendship,  neither  encouraged 
his  advances.  They  were  better  "  advised  than  to  do  so." 
Probably  they  knew  too  much  of  his  past  history  and  his 
character  to  think  of  him  as  a  husband.  Both  were  soon 
after  this  time  married  to  men  more  likely  to  make  them 
happy  than  the  erratic  poet.  When  they  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  his  addresses,  he  wrote  :  "  My  rhetoric  seems  to  have 
lost  all  its  effect  on  the  lovely  half  of  mankind ;  I  have 
seen  the  day — but  that  is  a  tale  of  other  years.  In  my  con- 
science, I  believe  that  my  heart  has  been  so  often  on  fire 
that  it  has  been  vitrified !"  Well  perhaps  for  him  if  it 
had  been  so,  such  small  power  had  he  to  guide  it.  Just 
about  the  time  when  he  found  himself  rejected,  notwith- 
standing all  his  fine  letters  and  his  verses,  by  the  two 
young  ladies  on  Devon  banks,  he  met  with  an  accident 
through  the  upsetting  of  a  hackney-coach  by  a  drunken 
driver.  The  fall  left  him  with  a  bruised  limb,  which  con- 
fined him  to  his  room  from  the  7th  of  December  till  the 
middle  of  February  (1788). 

During  these  weeks  he  suffered  much  from  low  spirits, 
and  the  letters  which  he  then  wrote  under  the  influence  of 
that  hypochondria  and  despondency  contain  some  of  the 
gloomiest  bursts  of  discontent  with  himself  and  with  the 
world,  which  he  ever  gave  vent  to  either  in  prose  or  verse. 
He  describes  himself  as  the  "  sport,  the  miserable  victim 
of  rebellious  pride,  hypochondriac  imagination,  agonizing 
sensibility,  and  Bedlam  passions.  I  wish  I  were  dead,  but 
I'm  no  like  to  die.  ...  I  fear  I  am  something  like  un- 


& 


82  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap 

done ;  but  I  hope  for  the  best.  Come,  stubborn  Pride 
and  unshrinking  Resolution;  accompany  me  through  this 
to  me  miserable  world !  1  have  a  hundred  times  wished 
that  one  could  resign  life,  as  an  officer  resigns  a  commis- 
sion ;  for  I  would  not  take  in  any  poor  wretch  by  selling 
out.  Lately  I  was  a  sixpenny  private,  and,  God  knows,  a 
miserable  soldier  enough ;  now  I  march  to  the  campaign, 
a  starving  cadet — a  little  more  conspicuously  wretched." 

But  his  late  want  of  success  on  the  banks  of  Devon, 
and  his  consequent  despondency,  were  alike  dispelled  from 
his  thoughts  by  a  new  excitement.  Just  at  the  time  when 
he  met  with  his  accident,  he  had  made  the  acquaintance 
of  a  certain  Mrs.  M'Lehose,  and  acquaintance  all  at  once 
became  a  violent  attachment  on  both  sides.  This  lady 
had  been  deserted  by  her  husband,  who  had  gone  to  the 
West  Indies,  leaving  her  in  poverty  and  obscurity  to  bring 
up  two  young  boys  as  best  she  might.  We  are  told  that 
she  was  "of  a  somewhat  voluptuous  style  of  beauty,  of 
lively  and  easy  manners,  of  a  poetical  fabric  of  mind,  with 
some  wit,  and  not  too  high  a  degree  of  refinement  or  deli- 
cacy—  exactly  the  kind  of  woman  to  fascinate  Burns." 
Fascinated  he  certainly  was.  On  the  30th  December  he 
writes:  "Almighty  love  still  reigns  and  revels  in  my  bos- 
om, and  I  am  at  this  moment  ready  to  hang  myself  for  a 
young  Edinburgh  widow,  who  has  wit  and  wisdom  more 
murderously  fatal  than  the  assassinating  stiletto  of  the  Si- 
cilian bandit,  or  the  poisoned  arrow  of  the  savage  African." 
For  several  months  his  visits  to  her  house  were  frequent, 
his  letters  unremitting.  The  sentimental  correspondence 
which  they  began,  in  which  Burns  addresses  her  as  Clarin- 
da,  assuming  to  himself  the  name  of  Sylvander,  has  been 
published  separately,  and  become  notorious.  Though  this 
correspondence  may  contain,  as  Lockhart  says,  "passages 


iv.]  SECOND  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  83 

of  deep  and  noble  feeling,  which  no  one  but  Burns  could 
have  penned,"  it  cannot  be  denied  that  it  contains  many 
more  of  such  fustian,  such  extravagant  bombast,  as  Burns 
or  any  man  beyond  twenty  might  well  have  been  ashamed 
to  write.  One  could  wish  that  for  the  poet's  sake  this 
correspondence  had  never  been  preserved.  It  is  so  humil- 
iating to  read  this  torrent  of  falsetto  sentiment  now,  and 
to  think  that  a  man  gifted  like  Burns  should  have  poured 
it  forth.  How  far  his  feelings  towards  Clarinda  were 
sincere,  or  how  far  they  were  wrought  up  to  amuse  his  va- 
cancy by  playing  at  love-making,  it  is  hard  to  say.  Blend- 
ed with  a  profusion  of  forced  compliments  and  unreal  rapt- 
ures, there  are  expressions  in  Burns's  letters  which  one  can- 
not but  believe  that  he  meant  in  earnest,  at  the  moment 
when  he  wrote  them.  Clarinda,  it  would  seem,  must  have 
regarded  Burns  as  a  man  wholly  disengaged,  and  have 
looked  forward  to  the  possible  removal  of  Mr.  M'Lehose, 
and  with  him  of  the  obstacle  to  a  union  with  Burns.  How 
far  he  may  have  really  shared  the  same  hopes  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say.  We  only  know  that  he  used  again  and  again 
language  of  deepest  devotion,  vowing  to  "  love  Clarinda  to 
death,  through  death,  and  for  ever." 

While  this  correspondence  between  Sylvander  and  Cla- 
rinda was  in  its  highest  flight  of  rapture,  Burns  received, 
in  January  or  February,  1788,  news  from  Mauchline  which 
greatly  agitated  him.  His  renewed  intercourse  with  Jean 
Armour  had  resulted  in  consequences  which  again  stirred 
her  father's  indignation ;  this  time  so  powerfully,  that  he 
turned  his  daughter  to  the  door.  Burns  provided  a  shel- 
ter for  her  under  the  roof  of  a  friend ;  but  for  a  time  he 
does  not  seem  to  have  thought  of  doing  more  than  this. 
Whether  he  regarded  the  original  private  marriage  as  en- 
tirely dissolved,  and  looked  on  himself  as  an  unmarried 


84  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

man,  does  not  quite  appear.  Anyhow,  he  and  Clarincja, 
who  knew  all  that  had  passed  with  regard  to  Jean  Armour, 
seem  to  have  then  thought  that  enough  had  been  done 
for  the  seemingly  discarded  Mauchline  damsel,  and  to  Lave 
carried  on  their  correspondence  as  rapturously  as  ever  for 
fully  another  six  weeks,  until  the  21st  of  March  (1788). 
On  that  day  Sylvander  wrote  to  Clarinda  a  final  letter, 
pledging  himself  to  everlasting  love,  and  following  it  by  a 
copy  of  verses  beginniug — 

"  Fair  empress  of  the  poet's  soul," 

presenting  her  at  the  same  time  with  a  pair  of  wine-glasses 
as  a  parting  gift. 

On  the  24th  of  March,  he  turned  his  back  on  Edinburgh, 
and  never  returned  to  it  for  more  than  a  day's  visit. 

Before  leaving  town,  however,  he  had  arranged  three 
pieces  of  business,  all  bearing  closely  on  his  future  life. 
First,  he  had  secured  for  himself  an  appointment  in  the 
Excise  through  the  kindness  of  "  Lang  Sandy  Wood,"  the 
surgeon  who  attended  him  when  laid  up  with  a  bruised 
limb,  and  who  had  iuterceded  with  Mr.  Graham  of  Fintray, 
the  chief  of  the  Excise  Board,  on  Burns's  behalf.  When 
he  received  his  appointment,  he  wrote  to  Miss  Chalmers, 
"  I  have  chosen  this,  my  dear  friend,  after  mature  delibera- 
tion. The  question  is  not  at  what  door  of  fortune's  palace 
shall  we  enter  in,  but  what  doors  does  she  open  for  us.  I 
was  not  likely  to  get  anything  to  do.  I  got  this  without 
hanging -on,  or  mortifying  solicitation;  it  is  immediate 
bread,  and  though  poor  in  comparison  of  the  last  eighteen 
months  of  my  existence,  'tis  luxury  in  comparison  of  all 
my  preceding  life." 

Next,  he  had  concluded  a  bargain  with  Mr.  Miller  of 
Dalswinton,  to  lease  his  farm   of  Ellisland,  on  which  he 


iv.J  SECOND  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  85 

had  long  set  his  heart,  and  to  which  he  had  paid  several 
visits  in  order  to  inspect  it. 

Lastly,  he  had  at  last  obtained  a  business  settlement 
with  Creech  regarding  the  Second  Edition  of  his  Poems. 
Before  this  was  effected,  Burns  had  more  than  once  lost 
his  temper,  and  let  Creech  know  his  mind.  Various  ac- 
counts have  been  given  of  the  profits  that  now  accrued  to 
Burns  from  the  whole  transaction.  We  cannot  be  far 
wrong  in  taking  the  estimate  at  which  Dr.  Chambers  ar- 
rived, for  on  such  a  matter  he  could  speak  with  authority. 
He  sets  down  the  poet's  profits  at  as  nearly  as  possible 
500/.  Of  this  sum  Burns  gave  180/.  to  his  brother  Gil- 
bert, who  was  now  in  pecuniary  trouble.  "  I  give  myself 
no  airs  on  this,"  he  writes,  "for  it  was  mere  selfishness 
on  my  part;  I  was  conscious  that  the  wrong  scale  of  the 
balance  was  pretty  heavily  charged,  and  I  thought  that 
throwing  a  little  filial  piety  and  fraternal  affection  into  the 
scale  in  my  favour,  might  help  to  smooth  matters  at  the 
grand  reckoning."  This  money  was  understood  by  the 
family  to  be  the  provision  due  from  Robert  on  behalf  of 
his  mother,  the  support  of  whom  he  was,  now  that  he  was 
setting  up  for  himself,  about  to  throw  on  his  younger 
brother.  Chambers  seems  to  reckon  that  as  another  120/. 
must  have  been  spent  by  Burns  on  his  tours,  his  accident, 
and  his  sojourn  in  Edinburgh  since  October,  he  could  not 
have  more  than  200/.  over,  with  which  to  set  up  at  Ellis- 
land.  We  see  in  what  terms  Burns  had  written  to  Cla- 
rinda  on  the  21st  of  March.  On  his  leaving  Edinburgh 
and  returning  to  Ayrshire,  he  married  Jean  Armour,  and 
forthwith  acknowledged  her  in  letters  as  his  wife.  This 
was  in  April,  though  it  was  not  till  August  that  he  and 
Jean  appeared  before  the  Kirk-Session,  and  were  formally 
recognized  as  man  and  wife  by  the  Church. 


86  ROBERT  BURNS.  [ohap 

Whether,  in  taking  this  step,  Burns  thought  that  he  was 
carrying  out  a  legal,  as  well  as  a  moral,  obligation,  wc 
know  not.  The  interpreters  of  the  law  now  assert  that 
the  original  marriage  in  1786  had  never  been  dissolved, 
and  that  the  destruction  of  the  promissory  lines,  and  the 
temporary  disownment  of  him  by  Jean  and  her  family, 
could  not  in  any  way  invalidate  it.  Indeed,  after  all  that 
had  happened,  for  Burns  to  have  deserted  Jean,  and  mar- 
ried another,  even  if  he  legally  could  have  done  so,  would 
have  been  the  basest  infidelity.  Amid  all  his  other  errors 
and  inconsistencies — and  no  doubt  there  were  enough  of 
these — we  cannot  but  be  glad  for  the  sake  of  his  good 
name  that  he  now  acted  the  part  of  an  honest  man,  and 
did  what  he  could  to  repair  the  much  suffering  and  shame 
he  had  brought  on  his  frail  but  faithful  Jean. 

As  to  the  reasons  which  determined  Burns  to  marry 
Jean  Armour,  and  not  another,  this  is  the  account  he  him- 
self gives  when  writing  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  one  of  his  most 
trusted  correspondents,  to  whom  he  spoke  out  his  real 
heart  in  a  simpler,  more  natural  way,  than  was  usual  with 
him  in  letter-writing : 

"You  are  right  that  a  bachelor  state  would  have  ensured 
me  more  friends ;  but,  from  a  cause  you  will  easily  guess, 
conscious  peace  in  the  enjoyment  of  my  own  mind,  and 
unmistrusting  confidence  in  approaching  my  God,  would 
seldom  have  been  of  the  number.  I  found  a  once  much- 
loved,  and  still  much-loved,  female,  literally  and  truly  cast 
out  to  the  mercy  of  the  naked  elements ;  but  I  enabled 
her  to  purchase  a  shelter; — there  is  no  sporting  with  a 
fellow-creature's  happiness  or  misery.  The  most  placid 
good-nature  and  sweetness  of  disposition ;  a  warm  heart, 
gratefully  devoted  with  all  its  powers  to  love  me  ;  vigorous 
health  and  sprightly  cheerfulness,  set  off  to  the  best  ad- 


it.]  SECOND  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  87 

vantage  by  a  more  than  commonly  handsome  figure  :  these, 
I  think,  in  a  woman  may  make  a  good  wife,  though  she 
should  never  have  read  a  page  but  the  Scriptures  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament,  nor  have  danced  in  a  brighter 
assembly  than  a  penny  pay  wedding." 

To  Miss  Chalmers  he  says : 

"  I  have  married  my  Jean.  I  had  a  long  and  much- 
loved  fellow-creature's  happiness  or  misery  in  my  determi- 
nation, and  I  durst  not  trifle  with  so  important  a  deposit, 
nor  have  I  any  cause  to  repent  it.  If  I  have  not  got  polite 
tittle-tattle,  modish  manners,  and  fashionable  dress,  I  am  not 
sickened  and  disquieted  with  the  multiform  curse  of  board- 
ing-school affectation ;  and  I  have  got  the  handsomest  fig- 
ure, the  sweetest  temper,  the  soundest  constitution,  and  the 
kindest  heart  in  the  country.  ...  A  certain  late  publica- 
tion of  Scots  poems  she  has  perused  very  devoutly,  and  all 
the  ballads  in  the  country,  as  she  has  the  finest  wood-note 
wild  I  ever  heard." 

There  have  been  many  comments  on  this  turning-point 
in  Burns's  life.  Some  have  given  him  high  praise  for  it, 
as  though  he  had  done  a  heroic  thing  in  voluntarily  sac- 
rificing himself,  when  it  might  have  been  open  to  him  to 
form  a  much  higher  connexion.  But  all  such  praise  seems 
entirely  thrown  away.  It  was  not,  as  it  appears,  open  to 
him  to  form  any  other  marriage  legally ;  certainly  it  was 
not  open  to  him  morally.  The  remark  of  Lockhart  is  en- 
tirely true,  that,  "  had  he  hesitated  to  make  her  his  wife, 
whom  he  loved,  and  who  was  the  mother  of  his  children, 
he  must  have  sunk  into  the  callousness  of  a  ruffian." 
Lockhart  need  hardly  have  added,  "  or  into  that  misery  of 
miseries,  the  remorse  of  a  poet." 

But  even  had  law  and  morality  allowed  him  to  pass  by 
Jean — which  they  did  not — would  it  have  been  well  for 


88  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

Burns,  if  he  had  sought,  as  one  of  his  biographers  regrets 
that  he  had  not  done,  a  wife  among  ladies  of  higher  rank 
and  more  refined  manners?  That  he  could  appreciate  what 
these  things  imply,  is  evident  from  his  own  confession  in 
looking  back  on  his  introduction  to  what  is  called  socie- 
ty:  "A  refined  and  accomplished  woman  was  a  being  alto- 
gether new  to  me,  and  of  which  I  had  formed  a  very  inade- 
quate idea."  It  requires  but  little  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  its  ways  to  see  the  folly  of  all  such  regrets.  Great 
disparity  of  condition  in  marriage  seldom  answers.  And 
in  the  case  of  a  wayward,  moody  man,  with  the  pride,  the 
poverty,  and  the  irregularities  of  Burns,  and  the  drudging 
toil  which  must  needs  await  his  wife,  it  is  easy  to  see  what 
misery  such  a  marriage  would  have  stored  up  for  both. 
As  it  was,  the  marriage  he  made  was,  to  put  it  at  the  low- 
est, one  of  the  most  prudent  acts  of  his  life.  Jean  proved 
to  be  all,  and  indeed  more  than  all,  he  anticipates  in  the 
letters  above  given.  During  the  eight  years  of  their  mar- 
ried life,  according  to  all  testimony,  she  did  her  part  as  a 
wife  and  mother  with  the  most  patient  and  placid  fidelity, 
and  bore  the  trials  which  her  husband's  irregular  habits  en- 
tailed on  her,  with  the  utmost  long-suffering.  And  after 
his  death,  during  her  long  widowhood,  she  revered  his 
memory,  and  did  her  utmost  to  maintain  the  honour  of 
his  name. 

With  his  marriage  to  his  Ayrshire  wife,  Burns  had  bid 
farewell  to  Edinburgh,  and  to  whatever  high  hopes  it  may 
have  at  any  time  kindled  within  him,  and  had  returned  to 
a  condition  somewhat  nearer  to  that  in  which  he  was  born. 
With  what  feelings  did  he  pass  from  this  brilliant  inter- 
lude, and  turn  the  corner  which  led  him  back  to  the  dreary 
road  of  commonplace  drudgery,  which  he  hoped  to  have 
escaped  ?     There  can  be  little  doubt  that  his  feelings  were 


i v.J  SECOND  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  89 

those  of  bitter  disappointment.  There  had  been,  it  is  said, 
a  marked  contrast  between  the  reception  he  had  met  with 
during  bis  first  and  second  winters  in  Edinburgh.  As 
Allan  Cunningham  says,  "  On  his  first  appearance  the 
doors  of  the  nobility  opened  spontaneously,  '  on  golden 
hinges  turning,'  and  he  ate  spiced  meats  and  drank  rare 
wines,  interchanging  nods  and  smiles  with  high  dukes  and 
mighty  earls.  A  colder  reception  awaited  his  second  com- 
ing. The  doors  of  lords  and  ladies  opened  with  a  tardy 
courtesy ;  he  was  received  with  a  cold  and  measured  state- 
liness,  was  seldom  requested  to  stop,  seldomer  to  repeat 
his  visit;  and  one  of  his  companions  used  to  relate  with 
what  indignant  feeling  the  poet  recounted  his  fruitless 
calls  and  his  uncordial  receptions  in  the  good  town  of  Ed- 
inburgh. ...  He  went  to  Edinburgh  strong  in  the  belief 
that  genius  such  as  his  would  raise  him  in  society ;  he  re- 
turned not  without  a  sourness  of  spirit  and  a  bitterness  of 
feeling." 

When  he  did  give  vent  to  his  bitterness,  it  was  not  into 
man's,  but  into  woman's  sympathetic  ear  that  he  poured 
his  complaint.  It  is  thus  he  writes,  some  time  after  set- 
tling at  Ellisland,  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  showing  how  fresh  was 
still  the  wound  within.  "When  I  skulk  into  a  corner 
lest  the  rattling  equipage  of  some  gaping  blockhead  should 
mangle  me  in  the  mire,  I  am  tempted  to  exclaim,  '  What 
merits  has  he  had,  or  what  demerit  have  I  had,  in  some 
previous  state  of  existence,  that  he  is  ushered  into  this 
state  of  being  with  the  sceptre  of  rule,  and  the  keys  of 
riches  in  his  puny  fist,  and  I  am  kicked  into  the  world, 
the  sport  of  folly,  or  the  victim  of  pride  ?  .  .  .  Often  as 
I  have  glided  with  humble  stealth  through  the  pomp  of 
Princes  Street,  it  has  suggested  itself  to  me,  as  an  im- 
provement on  the  present  human  figure,  that  a  man,  in 

5 


90  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

proportion  to  his  own  conceit  of  his  own  consequence  in 
the  world,  could  have  pushed  out  the  longitude  of  his 
common  size,  as  a  snail  pushes  out  his  horns,  or  as  we 
draw  out  a  prospect-glass.'  " 

This  is  a  feeling  which  Burns  has  uttered  in  many  a 
form  of  prose  and  verse,  but  which  probably  never  pos- 
sessed him  more  bitterly  than  when  he  retired  from  Edin- 
burgh. Many  persons  in  such  circumstances  may  have  felt 
thoughts  of  this  kind  pass  over  them  for  a  moment.  But 
they  have  felt  ashamed  of  them  as  they  rose,  and  have  at 
once  put  them  by.  Burns  no  doubt  had  a  severer  trial  in 
this  way  than  most,  but  he  never  could  overcome  it,  never 
ceased  to  chafe  at  that  inequality  of  conditions  which  is 
so  strongly  fixed  in  the  system  in  which  we  find  ourselves. 

It  was  natural  that  he  should  have  felt  some  bitterness 
at  the  changed  countenance  which  Edinburgh  society 
turned  on  him,  and  it  is  easy  to  be  sarcastic  on  the  upper 
ranks  of  that  day  for  turning  it :  but  were  they  really  so 
much  to  blame  ?  There  are  many  cases  under  the  present 
order  of  things,  in  which  we  are  constrained  to  say,  "  It 
must  needs  be  that  offences  come."  Taking  men  and 
things  as  they  are,  could  it  well  have  been  otherwise  ? 

First,  the  novelty  of  Burns's  advent  had  worn  off  by  his 
second  winter  in  Edinburgh,  and,  though  it  may  be  a 
weakness,  novelty  always  counts  for  something  in  human 
affairs.  Then,  again,  the  quiet,  decorous  men  of  Blair's 
circle  knew  more  of  Burns's  ways  and  doings  than  at  first, 
and  what  they  came  to  know  was  not  likely  to  increase 
their  desire  for  intimacy  with  him.  It  was,  it  seems,  no- 
torious that  Burns  kept  that  formidable  memorandum- 
book  already  alluded  to,  in  which  he  was  supposed  to 
sketch  with  unsparing  hand,  "stern  likenesses"  of  his 
friends  and  benefactors.     So  little  of  a  secret  did  he  make 


iv.]  SECOND  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  91 

of  this,  that  we  are  told  he  sometimes  allowed  a  visitor  to 
have  a  look  at  the  figures  which  he  had  sketched  in  his 
portrait-gallery.  The  knowledge  that  such  a  book  existed 
was  not  likely  to  make  Blair  and  his  friends  more  desirous 
of  his  society. 

Again,  the  festivities  at  the  Crochallan  Club  and  other 
such  haunts,  the  habits  he  there  indulged  in,  and  the  as- 
sociates with  whom  he  consorted,  these  were  well  known. 
And  it  was  not  possible  that  either  the  ways,  the  conver- 
sation, or  the  cronies  of  the  Crochallan  Club  could  be  wel- 
comed in  quieter  and  more  polished  circles.  Men  of  the 
Ainslie  and  Nicol  stamp  would  hardly  have  been  quite  in 
place  there. 

Again — what  is  much  to  the  honour  of  Burns — he  nev- 
er, in  the  highest  access  of  his  fame,  abated  a  jot  of  his 
intimacy  and  friendship  towards  the  men  of  his  own  rank, 
with  whom  he  had  been  associated  in  his  days  of  obscu- 
rity. These  were  tradesmen,  farmers,  and  peasants.  The 
thought  of  them,  their  sentiments,  their  prejudices  and 
habits,  if  it  had  been  possible,  their  very  persons,  he  would 
have  taken  with  him,  without  disguise  or  apology,  into  the 
highest  circles  of  rank  or  of  literature.  But  this  might 
not  be.  It  was  impossible  that  Burns  could  take  Mauch- 
line  with  its  belles,  its  Poosie-Nansies  and  its  Souter  John- 
nies, bodily  into  the  library  of  Dr.  Blair  or  the  drawing- 
room  of  Gordon  Castle. 

A  man,  to  whom  it  is  open,  must  make  his  choice ;  but 
he  cannot  live  at  once  in  two  different  and  widely  sundered 
orders  of  society.  To  no  one  is  it  given,  not  even  to  men 
of  genius  great  as  that  of  Burns,  for  himself  and  his  fam- 
ily entirely  to  overleap  the  barriers  with  which  custom  and 

the  world  have  hedged  us  in,  and  to  weld  the  extremes  of 
G 


92  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

society  into  one.  To  the  speculative  as  well  as  to  the 
practically  humane  man,  the  great  inequality  in  human 
conditions  presents,  no  doubt,  a  perplexing  problem.  A 
little  less  worldly  pride,  and  a  little  more  Christian  wisdom 
and  humility,  would  probably  have  helped  Burns  to  solve 
it  better  than  he  did.  But  besides  the  social  grievance, 
which  though  impalpable  is  very  real,  Burns  had  another 
more  material  and  tangible.  The  great  whom  he  had  met 
in  Edinburgh,  whose  castles  he  had  visited  in  the  country, 
might  have  done  something  to  raise  him  at  once  above 
poverty  and  toil,  and  they  did  little  or  nothing.  They 
had,  indeed,  subscribed  liberally  for  his  Second  Edition,  and 
they  had  got  him  a  gauger's  post,  with  fifty  or  sixty  pounds 
a  year — that  was  all.  What  more  could  they,  ought  they 
to  have  done?  To  have  obtained  him  an  office  in  some 
one  of  the  higher  professions  was  not  to  be  thought  of, 
for  a  man  cannot  easily,  at  the  age  of  eight-and-twenty, 
change  his  whole  line  and  adapt  himself  to  an  entirely 
new  employment.  The  one  thing  they  might  have  com- 
bined to  do,  was  to  have  compelled  Dundas,  or  some  other 
of  the  men  then  in  power,  to  grant  Burns  a  pension  from 
the  public  purse.  That  was  the  day  of  pensions,  and  hun- 
dreds with  no  claim  to  compare  with  Burns's  were  then 
on  the  pension  list:  SOOl.  a  year  would  have  sufficed  to 
place  him  in  comfort  and  independence ;  and  could  public 
money  have  been  better  spent  ?  But  though  the  most  rig- 
id economist  might  not  have  objected,  would  Burns  have 
accepted  such  a  benefaction,  had  it  been  offered  ?  And  if 
he  had  accepted  it,  would  he  not  have  chafed  under  the 
obligation,  more  even  than  he  did  in  the  absence  of  it? 
Such  questions  as  these  cannot  but  arise,  as  often  as  we 
think  over  the  fate  of  Burns,  and  ask  ourselves  if  nothing 


iv]  SECOND  WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH.  93 

could  have  been  done  to  avert  it.  Though  natural,  they 
are  vain.  Things  hold  on  their  own  course  to  their  inev- 
itable issues,  and  Burns  left  Edinburgh,  and  set  his  face 
first  towards  Ayrshire,  then  to  Nithsdale,  a  saddened  and 
embittered  man, 


CHAPTER  V. 


LIFE    AT    ELLISLAND. 


,5  Mr.  Burns,  you  have  made  a  poet's  not  a  farmer's 
choice."  Such  was  the  remark  of  Allan  Cunningham's 
father,  land-steward  to  the  laird  of  Dalswinton,  when  the 
poet  turned  from  the  low-lying  and  fertile  farm  of  Fore- 
girth,  which  Cunningham  had  recommended  to  him,  and 
selected  for  his  future  home  the  farm  of  Ellisland.  He 
was  taken  by  the  beautiful  situation  and  fine  romantic  out- 
look of  the  poorest  of  several  farms  on  the  Dalswinton 
estate  which  were  in  his  option.  Ellisland  lies  on  the 
western  bank  of  the  River  Nith,  about  six  miles  above 
Dumfries.  Looking  from  Ellisland  eastward  across  the 
river,  "a  pure  stream  running  there  over  the  purest  grav- 
el," you  see  the  rich  holms  and  noble  woods  of  Dalswin- 
ton. Dalswinton  is  an  ancient  historic  place,  which  has 
even  within  recorded  memory  more  than  once  changed  its 
mansion-house  and  its  proprietor.  To  the  west  the  eye 
falls  on  the  hills  of  Dunscore,  and  looking  northward  up 
the  Nith,  the  view  is  bounded  by  the  heights  that  shut  in 
the  river  towards  Drumlanrig,  and  by  the  high  conical  hill 
of  Corsincon,  at  the  base  of  which  the  infant  stream  slips 
from  the  shire  of  Ayr  into  that  of  Dumfries.  The  farm- 
steading  of  Ellisland  stands  but  a  few  yards  to  the  west  of 
the  Nith.  Immediately  underneath  there  is  a  red  scaur  of 
considerable  height,  overhanging  the  stream,  and  the  rest 


chap,  v.]  LITE  AT  ELLISLAND.  95 

of  the  bank  is  covered  with  broom,  through  which  winds  a 
greensward  path,  whither  Burns  used  to  retire  to  meditate 
his  sono-s.  The  farm  extends  to  upwards  of  a  hundred 
acres,  part  holm,  part  croft-land,  of  which  the  former  yield- 
ed good  wheat,  the  latter  oats  and  potatoes.  The  lease 
was  for  nineteen  years,  and  the  rent  fifty  pounds  for  the 
first  three  years;  seventy  for  the  rest  of  the  tack.  The 
laird  of  Dalswinton,  while  Burns  leased  Ellislaud,  was  Mr. 
Patrick  Millar,  not  an  ordinary  laird,  but  one  well  known 
in  his  day  for  his  scientific  discoveries.  There  was  no 
proper  farm-house  or  offices  on  the  farm — it  was  part  of 
the  bargain  that  Burns  should  build  these  for  himself.  The 
want  of  a  house  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  settle  at 
once  on  his  farm.  His  bargain  for  it  had  been  concluded 
early  in  March  (1788);  but  it  was  not  till  the  13th  of 
June  that  he  went  to  reside  at  Ellisland.  In  the  interval 
between  these  two  dates  he  went  to  Ayrshire,  and  com 
pleted  privately,  as  we  have  seen,  the  marriage,  the  long 
postponement  of  which  had  caused  him  so  much  disquiet. 
With  however  great  disappointment  and  chagrin  he  may 
have  left  Edinburgh,  the  sense  that  he  had  now  done  the 
thing  that  was  right,  and  had  the  prospect  of  a  settled  life 
before  him,  gave  him  for  a  time  a  peace  and  even  gladness 
of  heart,  to  which  he  had  for  long  been  a  stranger.  We 
can,  therefore,  well  believe  what  he  tells  us,  that,  when  he 
had  left  Edinburgh,  he  journeyed  towards  Mauchline  with 
as  much  gaiety  of  heart  "  as  a  May-frog,  leaping  across  the 
newly-harrowed  ridge,  enjoying  the  fragrance  of  the  re- 
freshed earth  after  the  long-expected  shower."  Of  what 
may  be  called  the  poet's  marriage  settlement,  we  have  the 
following  details  from  Allan  Cunningham : 

"His  marriage  reconciled  the  poet  to  his  wife's  kin- 
dred:   there  was   no  wedding  portion.      Armour  was   a 
32 


96  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

respectable  man,  but  not  opulent.  He  gave  bis  daughter 
some  small  store  of  plenishing ;  and,  exerting  his  skill  as  a 
mason,  wrought  his  already  eminent  son-in-law  a  hand- 
some punch-bowl  in  Inverary  marble,  which  Burns  lived  to 
fill  often,  to  the  great  pleasure  both  of  himself  and  his 
friends.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Dunlop  bethought  herself  of  Ellisland, 
and  gave  a  beautiful  heifer;  another  friend  contributed  a 
plough.  The  young  couple,  from  love  to  their  native 
county,  ordered  their  furniture  from  a  wright  in  Mauch- 
line;  the  farm -servants,  male  and  female,  were  hired  in 
Ayrshire,  a  matter  of  questionable  prudence,  for  the  mode 
of  cultivation  is  different  from  that  of  the  west,  and  the 
cold,  humid  bottom  of  Mossgiel  bears  no  resemblance  to 
the  warm  and  stony  loam  of  Ellisland." 

When  on  the  13th  June  he  went  to  live  on  his  farm,  he 
had,  as  there  was  no  proper  dwelling-house  on  it,  to  leave 
Jean  and  her  one  surviving  child  behind  him  at  Mauch- 
line,  and  himself  to  seek  shelter  in  a  mere  hovel  on  the 
skirts  of  the  farm.  "  I  remember  the  house  well,"  says 
Cunningham,  "  the  floor  of  clay,  the  rafters  japanned  with 
soot,  the  smoke  from  a  hearth-fire  streamed  thickly  out 
at  door  and  window,  while  the  sunshine  which  struggled 
in  at  those  apertures  produced  a  sort  of  twilight."  Burns 
thus  writes  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  "A  solitary  inmate  of  an  old 
smoky  spence,  far  from  every  object  I  love  or  by  whom 
I  am  beloved ;  nor  any  acquaintance  older  than  yesterday, 
except  Jenny  Geddes,  the  old  mare  I  ride  on,  while  uncouth 
cares  and  novel  plans  hourly  insult  my  awkward  ignorance 
and  bashful  inexperience."  It  takes  a  more  even,  better- 
ordered  spirit  than  Burns's  to  stand  such  solitude.  His 
heart,  during  those  first  weeks  at  Ellisland,  entirely  sank 
within  him,  and  he  saw  all  men  and  life  coloured  by  his 
own  despondency.     This  is  the  entry  in  his  commonplace 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  97 

book  on  the  first  Sunday  he  spent  alone  at  Ellisland : — "  I 
arn  such  a  coward  in  life,  so  tired  of  the  service,  that  I 
would  almost  at  any  time,  with  Milton's  Adam,  'gladly 
lay  me  in  my  mother's  lap,  and  be  at  peace.'  But  a  wife 
and  children  bind  me  to  struggle  with  the  stream,  till 
some  sudden  squall  shall  overset  the  silly  vessel,  or  in  the 
listless  return  of  years  its  own  craziness  reduce  it  to 
wreck." 

The  discomfort  of  his  dwelling-place  made  him  not 
only  discontented  with  his  lot,  but  also  with  the  people 
amongst  whom  he  found  himself.  "  I  am  here,"  he  writes, 
"  on  my  farm  ;  but  for  all  the  pleasurable  part  of  life  called 
social  communication,  I  am  at  the  very  elbow  of  exist- 
ence. The  only  things  to  be  found  in  perfection  in  this 
country  are  stupidity  and  canting.  ...  As  for  the  Muses, 
they  have  as  much  idea  of  a  rhinoceros  as  a  poet." 

When  he  was  not  in  Ayrshire  in  bodily  presence,  he 
was  there  in  spirit.  It  was  at  such  a  time  that,  looking 
up  to  the  hills  that  divide  Nithsdale  from  Ayrshire,  he 
breathed  to  his  wife  that  most  natural  and  beautiful  of  all 
his  love-lyrics — 

"  Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 
I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 
The  lassie  I  lo'e  best." 

His  disparagement  of  Nithsdale  people,  Allan  Cunning- 
ham, himself  a  Dumfriesshire  man,  naturally  resents,  and 
accounts  for  it  by  supposing  that  the  sooty  hovel  had  in- 
fected his  whole  mental  atmosphere.  "  The  Maxwells,  the 
Kirkpatricks,  and  Dalzells,"  exclaims  honest  Allan,  "  were 
fit  companions  for  any  man  in  Scotland,  and  they  were 
almost  his  neighbours ;  Riddell  of  Friars  Carse,  an  accom- 
plished  antiquarian,  lived   almost   next   door;   and  Jean 

5* 


98  ROBEKT  BURNS.  [chap. 

Lindsay  and  her  husband,  Patrick  Millar,  the  laird  of 
Dalswinton,  were  no  ordinary  people.  The  former,  beau- 
tiful, accomplished,  a  writer  of  easy  and  graceful  verses, 
with  a  natural  dignity  of  manners  which  became  her 
station  ;  the  latter  an  improver  and  inventor,  the  first  who 
applied  steam  to  the  purposes  of  navigation."  But  Burns's 
hasty  judgments  of  men  and  things,  the  result  of  moment- 
ary feeling,  are  not  to  be  too  literally  construed. 

He  soon  found  that  there  was  enough  of  sociality 
among  all  ranks  of  Dumfriesshire  people,  from  the  laird 
to  the  cotter,  indeed,  more  than  was  good  for  himself. 
Yet,  however  much  he  may  have  complained,  when  writ- 
ing letters  to  his  correspondents  of  an  evening,  he  was  too 
manly  to  go  moping  about  all  day  long  when  there  was 
work  to  be  done.  He  was,  moreover,  nerved  to  the  task 
by  the  thought  that  he  was  preparing  the  home  that  was 
to  shelter  his  wife  and  children.  On  the  laying  of  the 
foundation-stone  of  his  future  house,  he  took  off  his  hat 
and  asked  a  blessing  on  it.  "  Did  he  ever  put  his  own 
hand  to  the  work  ?"  was  asked  of  one  of  the  men  engaged 
in  it.  "Ay,  that  he  did,  mony  a  time,"  was  the  answer; 
"  if  he  saw  us  like  to  be  beat  wi'  a  big  stane,  he  would 
cry,  '  Bide  a  wee,'  and  come  rinning.  We  soon  found  out 
when  he  put  to  his  hand,  he  beat  a'  I  ever  met  for  a  dour 
lift." 

During  his  first  harvest,  though  the  weather  was  un- 
favourable, and  the  crop  a  poor  one,  we  find  Burns  speak- 
ing in  his  letters  of  being  industriously  employed,  and 
binding  every  day  after  the  reapers.  But  Allan  Cunning- 
ham's father,  who  had  every  opportunity  of  observing, 
used  to  allege  that  Burns  seemed  to  him  like  a  restless 
and  unsettled  man.  "  He  was  ever  on  the  move,  on  foot 
or  on  horseback.     In  the  course  of  a  single  day  he  might 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  99 

be  seen  holding  the  plough,  angling  in  the  river,  saun- 
tering, with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  on  the  banks, 
looking  at  the  running  water,  of  which  he  was  very  fond, 
walking  round  his  buildings  or  over  his  fields ;  and  if  you 
lost  sight  of  him  for  an  hour,  perhaps  you  might  see  him 
returning  from  Friars  Carse,  or  spurring  his  horse  through 
the  hills  to  spend  an  evening  in  some  distant  place  with 
such  friends  as  chance  threw  in  his  way."  Before  his 
new  house  was  ready,  he  had  many  a  long  ride  to  and 
fro  through  the  Cumnock  hills  to  Mauchline,  to  visit  Jean, 
and  to  return.  It  was  not  till  the  first  week  of  Decem- 
ber, 1788,  that  his  lonely  bachelor  life  came  to  an  end, 
and  that  he  was  able  to  bring  his  wife  and  household  to 
Nithsdale.  Even  then  the  house  at  Ellisland  was  not 
ready  for  his  reception,  and  he  and  his  family  had  to  put 
up  for  a  time  in  a  neighbouring  farm-house  called  the  Isle. 
They  brought  with  them  two  farm -lads  from  Ayrshire, 
and  a  servant  lass  called  Elizabeth  Smith,  who  was  alive 
in  1851,  and  gave  Chambers  many  details  of  the  poet's 
way  of  life  at  Ellisland.  Among  these  she  told  him  that 
her  father  was  so  concerned  about  her  moral  welfare  that, 
before  allowing  her  to  go,  he  made  Burns  promise  to  keep 
a  strict  watch  over  her  behaviour,  and  to  exercise  her  duly 
in  the  Shorter  Catechism  ;  and  that  both  of  these  promises 
he  faithfully  fulfilled. 

The  advent  of  his  wife  and  his  child  in  the  dark  days 
of  the  year  kept  dulness  aloof,  and  made  him  meet  the 
coming  of  the  new  year  (1789)  with  more  cheerful  hopes 
and  calmer  spirits  than  he  had  known  for  long.  Alas, 
that  these  were  doomed  to  be  so  short-lived ! 

On  New-Year's  morning,  1789,  his  brother  Gilbert  thus 
affectionately  writes  to  the  poet :  "  Dear  Brother, — I  have 
just  finished  my  New-Year's  Day  breakfast  in  the  usual 


100  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

form,  which  naturally  makes  me  call  to  mind  the  days  of 
former  years,  and  the  society  in  which  we  used  to  begin 
them  ;  and  when  I  look  at  our  family  vicissitudes, '  through 
the  dark  postern  of  time  long  elapsed,'  I  cannot  help  re- 
marking to  you,  my  dear  brother,  how  good  the  God  of 
seasons  is  to  us,  and  that,  however  some  clouds  may  seem 
to  lower  over  the  portion  of  time  before  us,  we  have  great 
reason  to  hope  that  all  will  turn  out  well."  On  the  same 
New-Year's  Day  Burns  addressed  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  a  letter, 
which,  though  it  has  been  often  quoted,  is  too  pleasing  to 
be  omitted  here.  "  I  own  myself  so  little  a  Presbyterian, 
that  I  approve  set  times  and  seasons  of  more  than  ordinary 
acts  of  devotion  for  breaking  in  on  that  habituated  routine 
of  life  and  thought,  which  is  so  apt  to  reduce  our  existence 
to  a  kind  of  instinct,  or  even  sometimes,  and  with  some 
minds,  to  a  state  very  little  superior  to  mere  machinery. 
This  day — the  first  Sunday  of  May — a  breezy,  blue-skied 
noon  some  time  about  the  beginning,  and  a  hoary  morning 
and  calm  sunny  day  about  the  end,  of  autumn — these,  time 
out  of  mind,  have  been  with  me  a  kind  of  holiday.  .  .  . 
We  know  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  of  the  substance  or 
structure  of  our  souls,  so  cannot  account  for  those  seeming 
caprices  in  them,  that  we  should  be  particularly  pleased 
with  this  thing,  or  struck  with  that,  which  on  minds  of  a 
different  cast  makes  no  extraordinary  impression.  I  have 
some  favourite  flowers  in  spring,  among  which  are  the 
mountain-daisy,  the  harebell,  the  fox-glove,  the  wild-brier 
rose,  the  budding  birch,  and  the  hoary  hawthorn,  that  I 
view  and  hang  over  with  particular  delight.  I  never  hear 
the  loud,  solitary  whistle  of  the  curlew  in  a  summer  noon, 
or  the  wild,  mixing  cadence  of  a  troop  of  gray  plovers  in 
an  autumnal  morning,  without  feeling  an  elevation  of  soul 
like  the  enthusiasm  of  devotion  or  poetry.     Tell  me,  my 


y.]  LITE  AT  ELLISLAND.  101 

dear  friend,  to  what  can  this  be  owing?  Are  we  a  piece 
of  machinery,  which,  like  the  ^Eoliau  harp,  passive,  takes 
the  impression  of  the  passing  accident?  Or  do  these 
workings  argue  something  within  us  above  the  trodden 
clod  ?  I  own  myself  partial  to  such  proofs  of  those  awful 
and  important  realities  —  a  God  that  made  all  things  — 
man's  immaterial  and  immortal  nature — and  a  world  of 
weal  or  woe  beyond  death  and  the  grave !" 

On  reading  this  beautiful  and  suggestive  letter,  an  orni- 
thologist remarked  that  Burns  had  made  a  mistake  in  a 
fact  of  natural  history.  It  is  not  the  '  gray  plover,'  but 
the  golden,  whose  music  is  heard  on  the  moors  in  autumn. 
The  gray  plover,  our  accurate  observer  remarks,  is  a  win- 
ter shore  bird,  found  only  at  that  season  and  in  that  hab- 
itat, in  this  country. 

It  was  not  till  about  the  middle  of  1789  that  the  farm- 
house of  Ellislaud  was  finished,  and  that  he  and  his  family, 
leaving  the  Isle,  went  to  live  in  it.  When  all  was  ready, 
Burns  bade  his  servant,  Betty  Smith,  take  a  bowl  of  salt, 
and  place  the  Family  Bible  on  the  top  of  it,  and,  bearing 
these,  walk  first  into  the  new  house  and  possess  it.  He 
himself,  with  his  wife  on  his  arm,  followed  Betty  and  the 
Bible  and  the  salt,  and  so  they  entered  their  new  abode. 
Burns  delighted  to  keep  up  old-world  freits  or  usages  like 
this.  It  was  either  on  this  occasion,  or  on  his  bringing 
Mrs.  Burns  to  the  Isle,  that  he  held  a  house-heating  men- 
tioned by  Allan  Cunningham,  to  which  all  the  neighbour- 
hood gathered,  and  drank,  "  Luck  to  the  roof-tree  of  the 
house  of  Burns !"  The  farmers  and  the  well-to-do  peo- 
ple welcomed  him  gladly,  and  were  proud  that  such  a 
man  had  come  to  be  a  dweller  in  their  vale.  Yet  the 
ruder  country  lads  and  the  lower  peasantry,  we  are  told, 
looked  on  him  not  without  dread,  "  lest  he  should  pickle 


102  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

and  preserve  them  in  sarcastic  song."  "Once  at  a  penny 
wedding,  when  one  or  two  wild  young  lads  quarrelled,  and 
were  about  to  fight,  Burns  rose  up  and  said, '  Sit  down 

and  ,  or  else  I'll  hang  you  up  like  potato-bogles  in 

sang  to-morrow.'  They  ceased,  and  sat  down  as  if  their 
noses  had  been  bleeding." 

The  house  which  had  cost  Burns  so  much  toil  in  build- 
ing, and  which  he  did  not  enter  till  about  the  middle  of 
the  year  1789,  was  a  humble  enough  abode.  Only  a  large 
kitchen,  in  which  the  whole  family,  master  and  servants, 
took  their  meals  together,  a  room  to  hold  two  beds,  a 
closet  to  hold  one,  and  a  garret,  coom-ceiled,  for  the  fe- 
male servants,  this  made  the  whole  dwelling-house.  "  One 
of  the  windows  looked  southward  down  the  holms ;  an- 
other opened  on  the  river;  and  the  house  stood  so  near 
the  lofty  bank,  that  its  afternoon  shadow  fell  across  the 
stream,  on  the  opposite  fields.  The  garden  or  kail-yard 
was  a  little  way  from  the  house.  A  pretty  footpath  led 
southward  along  the  river  side,  another  ran  northward,  af- 
fording fine  views  of  the  Nith,  the  woods  of  Friars  Carse, 
and  the  grounds  of  Dalswinton.  Half-way  down  the 
steep  declivity,  a  fine  clear  cool  spring  supplied  water  to 
the  household."  Such  was  the  first  home  which  Burns 
found  for  himself  and  his  wife,  and  the  best  they  were 
ever  destined  to  find.  The  months  spent  in  the  Isle,  and 
the  few  that  followed  the  settlement  at  Ellisland,  were 
among  the  happiest  of  his  life.  Besides  trying  his  best 
to  set  himself  to  farm-industry,  he  was  otherwise  bent  on 
well-doing.  He  had,  soon  after  his  arrival  in  Ellisland, 
started  a  parish  library,  both  for  his  own  use  and  to 
spread  a  love  of  literature  among  his  neighbours,  the 
portioners  and  peasants  of  Dunscore.  When  he  first  took 
up  house  at  Ellisland,  he  used  every  evening  when  he  was 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  103 

at  home,  to  gather  his  household  for  family  worship,  and, 
after  the  old  Scottish  custom,  himself  to  offer  up  prayer 
in  his  own  words.  He  was  regular,  if  not  constant,  in  his 
attendance  at  the  parish  church  of  Dunscore,  in  which  a 
worthy  minister,  Mr.  Kirkpatrick,  officiated,  whom  he  re- 
spected for  his  character,  though  he  sometimes  demurred 
to  what  seemed  to  him  the  too  great  sternness  of  his 
doctrine. 

Burns  and  his  wife  had  not  been  long  settled  in  their 
newly -built  farm-house,  when  prudence  induced  bim  to 
ask  that  he  might  be  appointed  Excise  officer  in  the  dis- 
trict in  which  he  lived.  This  request  Mr.  Graham  of 
Fintray,  who  had  placed  his  name  on  the  Excise  list  before 
he  left  Edinburgh,  at  once  granted.  The  reasons  that  im- 
pelled Burns  to  this  step  were  the  increase  of  his  family 
by  the  birth  of  a  son  in  August,  1789,  and  the  prospect 
that  his  second  year's  harvest  would  be  a  failure  like  the 
first.  He  often  repeats  that  it  was  solely  to  make  pro- 
vision for  his  increasino-  familv  that  he  submitted  to  the 
degradation  of — 

"  Searching  auld  wives'  barrels — 

Och,  hon !  the  day  ! 
That  clarty  barm  should  stain  my  laurels, 

But — what  'ill  ye  say  ? 
These  movin  things,  ca'd  wives  and  weans, 
Wad  move  the  very  hearts  o'  stanes." 

That  he  felt  keenly  the  slur  that  attached  to  the  name 
of  gauger  is  certain,  but  it  is  honourable  to  him  that  he 
resolved  bravely  to  endure  it  for  the  sake  of  his  family. 

"  I  know  not,"  he  writes,  "  how  the  word  exciseman,  or 
the  still  more  opprobrious  gauger,  will  sound  in  your  ears. 
I,  too,  have  seen  the  day  when  my  auditory  nerves  would 
have  felt  very  delicately  on  this  subject;  but  a  wife  and 


104  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

■ 

children  are  things  which  have  a  wonderful  power  in 
blunting  this  kind  of  sensations.  Fifty  pounds  a  year 
for  life,  and  a  provision  for  widows  and  orphans,  you  will 
allow,  is  no  bad  settlement  for  a  poet." 

In  announcing  to  Dr.  Blacklock  his  new  employment, 
he  says — 

"  But  what  d'ye  think,  my  trusty  fier, 
I'm  turned  a  gauger — Peace  be  here ! 
Parnassian  queans,  I  fear,  I  fear, 

Ye'll  now  disdain  me ! 
And  then  my  fifty  pounds  a  year 
Will  little  gain  me. 
***** 
"  Ye  ken,  ye  ken 
That  Strang  necessity  supreme  is 
'Mang  sons  o'  men. 
I  hae  a  wife  and  twa  wee  laddies, 
They  maun  hae  brose  and  brats  o'  duddies ; 
Ye  ken  yoursels  my  heart  right  proud  is, 

I  need  na  vaunt, 
But  I'll  sned  besoms,  thraw  saugh  woodies, 
Before  they  want." 

He  would  cut  brooms  and  twist  willow-ropes  before  his 
children  should  want.  But  perhaps,  as  the  latest  editor  of 
Burns's  poems  observes,  his  best  saying  on  the  subject  of 
the  excisemanship  was  that  word  to  Lady  Glencairn,  the 
mother  of  his  patron,  "  I  would  much  rather  have  it  said 
that  my  profession  borrowed  credit  from  me,  than  that  I 
borrowed  it  from  my  profession." 

In  these  words  we  see  something  of  the  bitterness  about 
his  new  employment,  which  often  escaped  from  him,  both 
in  prose  and  verse.  Nevertheless,  having  undertaken  it, 
he  set  his  face  honestly  to  the  work.  He  had  to  survey 
ten  parishes,  covering  a  tract  of  not  less  than  fifty  mile3 
each  way,  and  requiring  him  to  ride  two  hundred  miles 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  105 

a  week.  Smuggling  was  then  common  throughout  Scot- 
land, both  in  the  shape  of  brewing  and  of  selling  beer 
and  whiskey  without  licence.  Burns  took  a  serious  yet 
humane  view  of  his  duty.  To  the  regular  smuggler  he  is 
said  to  have  been  severe ;  to  the  country  folk,  farmers  or 
cotters,  who  sometimes  transgressed,  he  tempered  justice 
with  mercy.  Many  stories  are  told  of  his  leniency  to 
these  last.  At  Thornhill,  on  a  fair  day,  he  was  seen  to 
call  at  the  door  of  a  poor  woman  who  for  the  day  was 
doing  a  little  illicit  business  on  her  own  account.  A  nod 
and  a  movement  of  the  forefinger  brought  the  woman  to 
the  doorway.  "Kate,  are  you  mad?  Don't  you  know 
that  the  supervisor  and  I  will  be  in  upon  you  in  forty 
minutes?"  Burns  at  once  disappeared  among  the  crowd, 
and  the  poor  woman  was  saved  a  heavy  fine.  Another 
day  the  poet  and  a  brother  gauger  entered  a  widow's 
house  at  Dunscore  and  seized  a  quantity  of  smuggled  to- 
bacco. "  Jenny,"  said  Burns,  "  I  expected  this  would  be 
the  upshot.  Here,  Lewars,  take  note  of  the  number  of 
rolls  as  I  count  them.  Now,  Jock,  did  you  ever  hear  an 
auld  wife  numbering  her  threads  before  check-reels  were 
invented  ?  Thou's  ane,  and  thou's  no  ane,  and  thou's  ane 
a'out  —  listen."  As  he  handed  out  the  rolls,  and  num- 
bered them,  old-wife  fashion,  he  dropped  every  other  roll 
into  Jenny's  lap.  Lewars  took  the  desired  note  with  be- 
coming gravity,  and  saw  as  though  he  saw  not.  Again, 
a  woman  who  had  been  brewing,  on  seeing  Burns  coming 
with  another  exciseman,  slipped  out  by  the  back  door, 
leaving  a  servant  and  a  little  girl  in  the  house.  "Has 
there  been  ony  brewing  for  the  fair  here  the  day?"  "O 
no,  sir,  we  hae  nae  licence  for  that,"  answered  the  serv- 
ant maid.  "  That's  no  true,"  exclaimed  the  child ;  "  the 
muckle  black  kist  is  fou'  o'  the  bottles  o'  yill  that  my 


106  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

mither  sat  up  a'  nicht  brewing  for  the  fair."  ..."  We  are 
in  a  Lurry  just  now,"  said  Burns,  "  but  wben  we  return 
from  the  fair,  we'll  examine  the  muckle  black  kist."  In 
acts  like  these,  and  in  many  another  anecdote  that  might  be 
given,  is  seen  the  genuine  human-heartedness  of  the  man, 
in  strange  contrast  with  the  bitternesses  which  so  often 
find  vent  in  his  letters.  Ultimately,  as  we  sball  see,  the 
exciseman's  work  told  heavily  against  his  farming,  his 
poetry,  and  his  habits  of  life.  But  it  was  some  time  be- 
fore this  became  apparent.  The  solitary  rides  through 
the  moors  and  dales  that  border  Nithsdale  gave  him  op- 
portunities, if  not  for  composing  long  poems,  at  any  rate 
for  crooning  over  those  short  songs  in  which  mainly  his 
genius  now  found  vent.  "  The  visits  of  the  muses  to  me," 
he  writes,  "and  I  believe  to  most  of  their  acquaintance, 
like  the  visits  of  good  angels,  are  short  and  far  between ; 
but  I  meet  them  now  and  then  as  I  jog  through  the  hills 
of  Nithsdale,  just  as  I  used  to  do  on  the  banks  of  Ayr." 

Take  as  a  sample  some  of  the  varying  moods  he  passed 
through  in  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1789.  In  the 
May-time  of  that  year  an  incident  occurs,  which  the  poet 
thus  describes  : — "  One  morning  lately,  as  I  was  out  pret- 
ty early  in  the  fields,  sowing  some  grass-seeds,  I  heard  the 
burst  of  a  shot  from  a  neighbouring  plantation,  and  pres- 
ently a  poor  little  wounded  hare  came  hirpling  by  me. 
You  will  guess  my  indignation  at  the  inhuman  fellow  who 
could  shoot  a  hare  at  this  season,  when  all  of  them  have 
young  ones.  Indeed,  there  is  something  in  the  business  of 
destroying,  for  our  sport,  individuals  in  the  animal  crea- 
tion that  do  not  injure  us  materially,  which  I  could  never 
reconcile  to  my  ideas  of  virtue."  The  lad  who  fired  the 
shot  and  roused  the  poet's  indignation,  was  the  son  of  a 
neighbouring  farmer.     Burns  cursed  him,  and,  being  neat 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  10V 

the  Nith  at  the  time,  threatened  to  throw  him  into  tne 
river.  He  found,  however,  a  more  innocent  vent  for  his 
feelings  in  the  following  lines : 


"  Inhuman  man !  curse  on  thy  barbarous  art, 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming  eye ! 
May  never  pity  soothe  thee  with  a  sigh, 
Nor  ever  pleasure  glad  thy  cruel  heart ! 

"  Go  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field, 
The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains : 
No  more  the  thickening  brakes  and  verdant  plains 
To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime  yield. 

*  Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of  wonted  rest. 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying  bed ! 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head, 
The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom  prest. 

"  Perhaps  a  mother's  anguish  adds  its  woe ; 
The  playful  pair  crowd  fondly  by  thy  side  ; 
Ah  !  helpless  nurslings,  who  will  now  provide 
That  life  a  mother  only  can  bestow ! 

"  Oft  as  by  winding  Nith,  I,  musing,  wait 
The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  cheerful  dawn, 
I'll  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy  lawn, 
And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn  thy  hapless  fate." 

This,  which  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  very  few  good  poems 
which  Burns  composed  in  classical  English,  is  no  mere  sen- 
timental elusion,  but  expresses  what  in  him  was  a  real  part 
of  his  nature — his  tender  feeling  towards  his  lower  fellow- 
creatures.  The  same  feeling  finds  expression  in  the  lines 
on  The  Mouse,  The  Auld  Farmer's  Address  to  his  Mare, 
and  The  Winter  Night,  when,  as  he  sits  by  his  fireside,  and 
hears  the  storm  roaring  without,  he  says — 


H 


"  I  thought  me  on  the  ourie  cattle, 
Or  silly  sheep,  wha  bide  this  brattle 


i08  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap: 

0'  wintry  war. 
Or  thro'  the  drift,  deep-lairing,  sprattie, 

Beneath  a  scaur. 
iik  happing  bird,  wee  helpless  thing, 
That  in  the  merry  mouths  o'  spring 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing, 

What  comes  o'  thee  ? 
Whare  wilt  thou  cow'r  thy  chittering  wing, 

And  close  thy  e'e  ?" 

Though  for  a  time,  influenced  by  the  advice  of  critics, 
Burns  had  tried  to  compose  some  poems  according  to  the 
approved  models  of  book-English,  we  find  him  presently 
reverting  to  his  own  Doric,  which  he  had  lately  too  much 
abandoned,  and  writing  in  good  broad  Scotch  his  admira- 
bly humorous  description  of  Captain  Grose,  an  Antiquary  5 
whom  he  had  met  at  Friars  Carse : 

"  Hear,  Land  o'  Cakes,  and  brither  Scots, 
Frae  Maidenkirk  to  Johnnie  Groats — 
If  there's  a  hole  in  a'  your  coats, 
I  rede  you  tent  it : 
A  chield's  amang  you,  takin'  notes, 

And,  faith,  he'll  prent  it. 

"  By  some  auld,  houlet-haunted  biggin, 
Or  kirk  deserted  by  its  riggin, 
It's  ten  to  ane  ye'll  find  him  snug  in 

Some  eldritch  part, 
Wi'  deils,  they  say,  Lord  save's !  colleag'iia' 

At  some  black  art. 

"It's  tauld  he  was  a  sodger  bred, 
And  ane  wad  rather  fa'n  than  fled ; 
But  now  he's  quat  the  spurtle-blade, 

And  dog-skin  wallet, 
And  taen  the — Antiquarian  trade, 

I  think  they  call  it 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  109 

"  He  has  a  fouth  o'  auld  nick-nackets  : 
Rusty  aim  caps,  and  jinglin'  jackets, 
Wad  haud  the  Lothians  three  in  tacketa, 

A  towmont  gude 
And  parritch-pats  and  auld  saut-backets, 
Before  the  Flood. 
***** 

"  Forbye,  he'll  shape  you  aff  fu'  gleg 
The  cut  of  Adam's  philibeg ; 
The  knife  that  nicket  Abel's  craig 

He'll  prove  you  fully, 
It  was  a  faulding  jocteleg 

Or  lang-kail  gullie." 

The  meeting  with  Captain  Grose  took  place  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1789,  and  the  stanzas  just  given  were  written  prob- 
ably about  the  same  time.  To  the  same  date  belongs  his 
ballad  called  The  KirTc's  Alarm,  in  which  he  once  more 
reverts  to  the  defence  of  one  of  his  old  friends  of  the  New 
Light  school,  who  had  got  into  the  Church  Courts,  and 
was  in  jeopardy  from  the  attacks  of  his  more  orthodox 
brethren.  The  ballad  in  itself  has  little  merit,  except  as 
showing  that  Burns  still  clung  to  the  same  school  of  di- 
vines to  which  he  had  early  attached  himself.  In  Septem- 
ber we  find  him  writing  in  a  more  serious  strain  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop,  and  suggesting  thoughts  which  might  console  her 
in  some  affliction  under  which  she  was  suffering.  "...  In 
vain  would  we  reason  and  pretend  to  doubt.  I  have  my- 
self done  so  to  a  very  daring  pitch;  but  when  I  reflected 
that  I  was  opposing  the  most  ardent  wishes  and  the  most 
darling  hopes  of  good  men,  and  flying  in  the  face  of  all 
human  belief,  in  all  ages,  I  was  shocked  at  my  own  con- 
duct." 

That  same  September,  Burns,  with  his  friend  Allan  Mas- 
terton,  crossed  from  Nithsdale  to  Annandale  to  visit  their 


110  ROBERT  BURNS.  |chaf. 

common  friend  Nicol,  who  was  spending  his  vacation  in 
Moffatdale.  They  met  and  spent  a  night  in  Nicol's  lodg- 
ing. It  was  a  small  thatched  cottage,  near  Craigieburn — 
a  place  celebrated  by  Burns  in  one  of  his  songs  —  and 
stands  on  the  right-hand  side  as  the  traveller  passes  up 
Moffatdale  to  Yarrow,  between  the  road  and  the  river. 
Few  pass  that  way  now  without  having  the  cottage  point- 
ed out  as  the  place  where  the  three  merry  comrades  met 
that  night 

"  We  had  such  a  joyous  meeting,"  Burns  writes,  "  that 
Mr.  Masterton  and  I  agreed,  each  in  our  own  way,  that  we 
should  celebrate  the  business,"  and  Burns's  celebration  of 
it  was  the  famous  bacchanalian  song — 

"  0,  Willie  brewed  a  peck  o'  maut, 
And  Rob  and  Allan  cam  to  pree." 

If  bacchanalian  songs  are  to  be  written  at  all,  this  certain- 
ly must  be  pronounced  "  The  king  amang  them  a'."  But 
while  no  one  can  withhold  admiration  from  the  genius  and 
inimitable  humour  of  the  song,  still  we  read  it  with  very 
mingled  feelings,  when  we  think  that  perhaps  it  may  have 
helped  some  topers  since  Burns's  day  a  little  faster  on  the 
road  to  ruin.  As  for  the  three  boon -companions  them- 
selves, just  ten  years  after  that  night,  Currie  wrote,  "  These 
three  honest  fellows — all  men  of  uncommon  talents  —  are 
now  all  under  the  turf."  And  in  1821,  John  Struthers,  a 
Scottish  poet  little  known,  but  of  great  worth  and  some 
genius,  thus  recurs  to  Currie's  words : — 

"  Nae  rnair  in  learning  Willie  toils,  nor  Allan  wakes  the  melting  lay, 
Nor  Rab,  wi'  fancy  -  witching  wiles,  beguiles  the  hour  o'  dawning 

day; 
For  tho'  they  were  na  very  fou,  that  wicked  wee  drap  in  the  e'e 
Has  done  its  turn ;  untimely  now  the  green  grass  waves  o'er  a' 

the  three." 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  Ill 

Willie  brewed  a  Peck  o1  Maut  was  soon  followed  by 
another  bacchanalian  effusion,  the  ballad  called  The  Whis- 
tle. Three  lairds,  all  neighbours  of  Burns  at  Ellisland,  met 
at  Friars  Carse  on  the  16th  of  October,  1789,  to  contend 
with  each  other  in  a  drinking-bout.  The  prize  was  an 
ancient  ebony  whistle,  said  to  have  been  brought  to  Scot- 
land in  the  reign  of  James  the  Sixth  by  a  Dane,  who,  after 
three  days  and  three  nights'  contest  in  hard  drinking,  was 
overcome  by  Sir  Robert  Laurie,  of  Maxwelton,  with  whom 
the  whistle  remained  as  a  trophy.  It  passed  into  the  Rid- 
dell  family,  and  now  in  Bums's  time  it  was  to  be  again 
contested  for  in  the  same  rude  orgie.  Burns  was  appoint- 
ed the  bard  to  celebrate  the  contest.  Much  discussion  has 
been  carried  on  by  his  biographers  as  to  whether  Burns 
was  present  or  not.  Some  maintain  that  he  sat  out  the 
drinking-match,  and  shared  the  deep  potations.  Others, 
and  among  these  his  latest  editor,  Mr.  Scott  Douglas,  main- 
tain that  he  was  not  present  that  night  in  body,  but  only 
in  spirit.  Anyhow,  the  ballad  remains  a  monument,  if  not 
of  his  genius,  at  least  of  his  sympathy  with  that  ancient 
but  now  happily  exploded  form  of  good  fellowship. 

This  "  mighty  claret-shed  at  the  Carse,"  and  the  ballad 
commemorative  of  it,  belong  to  the  16th  of  October,  1789. 
It  must  have  been  within  a  few  days  of  that  merry-meet- 
ing that  Burns  fell  into  another  and  very  different  mood, 
which  has  recorded  itself  in  an  immortal  lyric.  It  would 
seem  that  from  the  year  1786  onwards,  a  cloud  of  melan- 
choly generally  gathered  over  the  poet's  soul  toward  the 
end  of  each  autumn.  This  October,  as  the  anniversary  of 
Highland  Mary's  death  drew  on,  he  was  observed  by  hi3 
wife  to  "  grow  sad  about  something,  and  to  wander  solita- 
ry on  the  banks  of  Nith,  and  about  his  farm-yard,  in  the 

extremest  agitation  of  mind  nearly  the  whole  night.     He 
33 


112 


ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 


screened  himself  on  the  lee-side  of  a  corn-stack  from  the 
cutting  edge  of  the  night  wind,  and  lingered  till  approach- 
ing dawn  wiped  out  the  stars,  one  by  one,  from  the  firma- 
ment." Some  more  details  Lockhart  has  added,  said  to 
have  been  received  from  Mrs.  Burns,  but  these  the  latest 
editor  regards  as  mythical.  However  this  may  be,  it  would 
appear  that  it  was  only  after  his  wife  had  frequently  en- 
treated him,  that  he  was  persuaded  to  return  to  his  home, 
where  he  sat  down  and  wrote,  as  they  now  stand,  these  pa- 
thetic lines : 

"  Thou  lingering  star,  with  lessening  ray, 

That  lovest  to  greet  the  early  morn, 
Again  thou  usherest  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 
0  Mary !  dear  departed  shade ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
See'st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast?" 

That  Burns  should  have  expressed,  in  such  rapid  suc- 
cession, the  height  of  drunken  revelry  in  Willie  brewed  a 
Peck  o'  Maut  and  in  the  ballad  of  The  Whistle,  and  then 
the  depth  of  despondent  regret  in  the  lines  To  Mary  in 
Heaven,  is  highly  characteristic  of  him.  To  have  many 
moods  belongs  to  the  poetic  nature,  but  no  poet  ever  pass- 
ed more  rapidly  than  Burns  from  one  pole  of  feeling  to 
its  very  opposite.  Such  a  poem  as  this  last  could  not 
possibly  have  proceeded  from  any  but  the  deepest  and 
most  genuine  feeling.  Once  again,  at  the  same  season, 
three  years  later  (1*792),  his  thoughts  went  back  to  High- 
land Mary,  and  he  poured  forth  his  last  sad  wail  for  her  in 
the  simpler,  not  less  touching  song,  beginning — 

"  Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 
The  castle  o'  Montgomery ! 


V=]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAXD.  113 

Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie ; 
There  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

And  there  the  langest  tarry ; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  Fareweel 

0'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary." 

It  would  seem  as  though  these  retrospects  were  always 
accompanied  by  special  despondency.  For,  at  the  very 
time  he  composed  this  latter  song,  he  wrote  thus  to  his 
faithful  friend,  Mrs.  Dunlop  : 

"  Alas !  who  would  wish  for  many  years  ?  What  is  it 
but  to  drag  existence  until  our  joys  gradually  expire,  and 
leave  us  in  a  night  of  misery,  like  the  gloom  which  blots 
out  the  stars,  one  by  one,  from  the  face  of  heaven,  and 
leaves  us  without  a  ray  of  comfort  in  the  howling  waste  ?" 

To  fits  of  hypochondria  and  deep  dejection  he  had,  as  he 
himself  tells  us,  been  subject  from  his  earliest  manhood, 
and  he  attributes  to  overtoil  in  boyhood  this  tendency 
which  was  probably  a  part  of  his  natural  temperament. 
To  a  disposition  like  his,  raptures,  exaltations,  agonies,  came 
as  naturally  as  a  uniform  neutral-tinted  existence  to  more 
phlegmatic  spirits.  But  we  may  be  sure  that  every  cause 
of  self-reproach  which  his  past  life  had  stored  up  in  his 
memory  tended  to  keep  him  more  and  more  familiar  with 
the  lower  pole  in  that  fluctuating  scale. 

Besides  these  several  poems  which  mark  the  variety  of 
moods  which  swept  over  him  during  the  summer  and  au- 
tumn of  1789,  there  was  also  a  continual  succession  of 
songs  on  the  anvil  in  preparation  for  Johnson 's  Museum. 
This  work  of  song-making,  begun  during  his  second  win- 
ter in  Edinburgh,  was  carried  on  with  little  intermission 
daring  all  the  Ellisland  period.  The  songs  were  on  ail 
kinds  of  subjects,  and  of  all  degrees  of  excellence,  but 

6 


J14  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

hardly  one,  even  the  most  trivial,  was  without  some  small 
touch  which  could  have  come  from  no  hand  but  that  of 
Burns.  Sometimes  they  were  old  songs  with  a  stanza  or 
two  added.  Oftener  an  old  chorus  or  single  line  was  tak- 
en up,  and  made  the  hint  out  of  which  a  new  and  original 
song  was  woven.  At  other  times  they  were  entirely  orig- 
inal both  in  subject  and  in  expression,  though  cast  in  the 
form  of  the  ancient  minstrelsy.  Among  so  many  and  so 
rapidly  succeeding  efforts,  it  was  only  now  and  then,  when 
a  happier  moment  of  inspiration  was  granted  him,  that 
there  came  forth  one  song  of  supreme  excellence,  perfect 
alike  in  conception  and  in  expression.  The  consummate 
song  of  this  summer  (1789)  was  John  Anderson  my  Joe, 
John,  just  as  Auld  Lang  Syne  and  The  Silver  Tassie  had 
been  those  of  the  former  year. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  year  1789  Burns  seems  to 
have  continued  more  or  less  in  the  mood  of  mind  indi- 
cated by  the  lines  To  Mary  in  Heaven.  He  was  suffering 
from  nervous  derangement,  and  this,  as  usual  with  him, 
made  him  despondent.  This  is  the  way  in  which  he  writes 
to  Mrs.  Dunlop  on  the  13th  December,  1789  : 

"  I  am  groaning  under  the  miseries  of  a  diseased  ner- 
vous system — a  system,  the  state  of  which  is  most  condu- 
cive to  our  happiness,  or  the  most  productive  of  our  mis- 
ery. For  now  near  three  weeks  I  have  been  so  ill  with 
a  nervous  headache,  that  1  have  been  obliged  for  a  time 
to  give  up  my  Excise-books,  l-eing  scarce  able  to  lift  my 
head,  much  less  to  ride  once  a  week  over  ten  muir  parishes. 
What  is  man  ?  .  .  ." 

And  then  he  goes  on  to  moralize  in  a  half  -  believing, 
half-doubting  kind  of  way,  on  the  probability  of  a  life  to 
come,  and  ends  by  speaking  of,  or  rather  apostrophizing, 
Jesus  Christ  in  a  strain  which  would  seem  to  savour  of  So- 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  115 

cinianism.  This  letter  he  calls  "  a  distracted  scrawl  which 
the  writer  dare  scarcely  read."  And  yet  it  appears  to  have 
been  deliberately  copied  with  some  amplification  from  an 
entry  in  his  last  year's  commonplace-book.  Even  the  few 
passages  from  his  correspondence  already  given  are  enough 
to  show  that  there  was  in  Burns's  letter-writing  something 
strained  and  artificial.  But  such  discoveries  as  this  seem 
to  reveal  an  extent  of  effort,  and  even  of  artifice,  which  one 
would  hardly  otherwise  have  guessed  at. 

In  the  same  strain  of  harassment  as  the  preceding  ex- 
tract, but  pointing  to  another  and  more  definite  cause  of 
it,  is  the  following,  written  on  the  20th  December,  1789,  to 
Provost  Maxwell  of  Lochmaben  : 

"  My  poor  distracted  mind  is  so  torn,  so  jaded,  so  racked 
and  bedevilled  with  the  task  of  the  superlatively  damned, 
to  make  one  guinea  do  the  business  of  three,  that  I  detest, 
abhor,  and  swoon  at  the  very  word  business,  though  no 
less  than  four  letters  of  my  very  short  surname  are  in  it." 
The  rest  of  the  letter  goes  off  in  a  wild  rollicking  strain, 
inconsistent  enough  with  his  more  serious  thoughts.  But 
the  part  of  it  above  given  points  to  a  very  real  reason  for 
his  growing  discontent  with  Ellisland. 

By  the  beginning  of  1790  the  hopelessness  of  his  farm- 
ing prospects  pressed  on  him  still  more  heavily,  and  formed 
one  ingredient  in  the  mental  depression  with  which  he  saw 
a  new  year  dawn.  Whether  he  did  wisely  in  attempting 
the  Excise  business,  who  shall  now  say  ?  In  one  respect  it 
seemed  a  substantial  gain.  But  this  gain  was  accompanied 
by  counterbalancing  disadvantages.  The  new  duties  more 
and  more  withdrew  him  from  the  farm,  which,  in  order  to 
give  it  any  chance  of  paying,  required  not  only  the  aid  of 
the  master's  hand,  but  the  undivided  oversight  of  the  mas- 
ter's eye.     In  fact,  farming  to  profit  and  Excise-work  were 


116  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

incompatible,  and  a  very  few  months'  trial  must  have  con- 
vinced Burns  of  this.  But  besides  rendering  regular  farm 
industry  impossible,  the  weekly  absences  from  home,  which 
his  new  duties  entailed,  had  other  evil  consequences.  They 
brought  with  them  continual  mental  distraction,  which  for- 
bade all  sustained  poetic  effort,  and  laid  him  perilously 
open  to  indulgences  which  were  sure  to  undermine  regular 
habits  and  peace  of  mind.  About  this  time  (the  begin- 
ning of  1790),  we  begin  to  hear  of  frequent  visits  to  Dum- 
fries on  Excise  business,  and  of  protracted  lingerings  at  a 
certain  hoivff,  place  of  resort,  called  the  Globe  Tavern, 
which  boded  no  good.  There  were  also  intromissions  with 
a  certain  company  of  players  then  resident  in  Dumfries,  and 
writings  of  such  prologues  for  their  second-rate  pieces,  as 
many  a  penny-a-liner  could  have  done  to  order  as  well. 
Political  ballads,  too,  came  from  his  pen,  siding  with  this 
or  that  party  in  local  elections,  all  which  things  as  we  read, 
we  feel  as  if  we  saw  some  noble  high-bred  racer  harnessed 
to  a  dust-cart. 

His  letters  during  the  first  half  of  1790  betoken  the 
same  restless,  unsatisfied  spirit  as  those  written  towards 
the  end  of  the  previous  year.  Only  we  must  be  on  our 
guard  against  interpreting  his  real  state  of-mind  too  ex- 
clusively from  his  letters.  For  it  seems  to  have  been  his 
habit  when  writino-  to  his  friends  to  take  one  mood  of 
mind,  which  happened  to  be  uppermost  in  him  for  the 
moment,  and  with  which  he  knew  that  his  correspondent 
sympathized,  and  to  dwell  on  this  so  exclusively  that  for 
the  moment  it  filled  his  whole  mental  horizon,  and  shut 
out  every  other  thought.  And  not  this  only,  which  is  the 
tendency  of  all  ardent  and  impulsive  natures,  but  we  can- 
not altogether  excuse  Burns  of  at  times  half -consciously 
exaggerating  these  momentary  moods,  almost  for  certain 


t.]  LITE  AT  ELLISLAND.  117 

stage  effects  which  they  produced.  It  is  necessary,  there- 
fore, in  estimating  his  real  condition  at  any  time,  to  set 
against  the  account,  which  he  gives  of  himself  in  his  let- 
ters, the  evidence  of  other  facts,  such  as  the  testimony  of 
those  who  met  him  from  time  to  time,  and  who  have  left 
some  record  of  those  interviews.  This  I  shall  now  do  for 
the  first  half  of  the  year  1790,  and  shall  place,  over  against 
his  self-revelations,  some  observations  which  show  how  he 
at  this  time  appeared  to  others. 

An  intelligent  man  named  William  Clark,  who  had  served 
Burns  as  a  ploughman  at  Ellisland  during  the  winter  half- 
year  of  1789-90,  survived  till  1838,  and  in  his  old  age 
gave  this  account  of  his  former  master :  "  Burns  kept  two 
men  and  two  women  servants,  but  he  invariably  when  at 
home  took  his  meals  with  his  wife  and  family  in  the  lit- 
tle parlour."  Clark  thought  he  was  as  good  a  manager  of 
land  as  most  of  the  farmers  in  the  neighbourhood.  The 
farm  of  Ellisland  was  moderately  rented,  and  was  suscepti- 
ble of  much  improvement,  had  improvement  been  then  in 
repute.  Burns  sometimes  visited  the  neighbouring  farm- 
ers, and  they  returned  the  compliment ;  but  that  way  of 
spending  time  was  not  so  common  then  as  now.  No  one 
thought  that  the  poet  and  his  writings  would  be  so  much 
noticed  afterwards.  He  kept  nine  or  ten  milch  cows,  some 
young  cattle,  four  horses,  and  several  pet  sheep :  of  the 
latter  he  was  very  fond.  During  the  winter  and  spring- 
time, when  not  engaged  in  Excise  business,  "  he  sometimes 
held  the  plough  for  an  hour  or  two  for  him  (W.  Clark), 
and  was  a  fair  workman.  During  seed-time,  Burns  might 
be  frequently  seen  at  an  early  hour  in  the  fields  with  his 
sowing  sheet ;  but  as  he  was  often  called  away  on  business, 
he  did  not  sow  the  whole  of  his  grain." 

This  old  man  went  on  to  describe  Burns  as  a  kindly  and 


US  ROBERT  BURNS.  [char 

indulgent  master,  who  spoke  familiarly  to  bis  servants, 
botli  at  home  and  a-field ;  quick-tempered  when  anything 
put  him  out,  but  quickly  pacified.  Once  only  Clark  saw 
him  really  angry,  when  one  of  the  lasses  had  nearly  choked 
one  of  the  cows  by  giving  her  potatoes  not  cut  small 
enough.  Burns's  looks,  gestures,  and  voice  were  then  ter- 
rible. Clark  slunk  out  of  the  way,  and  when  he  returned, 
his  master  was  quite  calm  again.  When  there  was  extra 
work  to  be  done,  he  would  give  his  servants  a  dram,  but 
he  was  by  no  means  over-flush  in  this  way.  During  the 
six  months  of  his  service,  Clark  never  once  saw  Burns  in- 
toxicated or  incapable  of  managing  his  business.  The- — . 
poet,  when  at  home,  used  to  wear  a  broad  blue  bonnet,  a 
long-tailed  coat,  drab  or  blue,  corduroy  breeches,  dark  blue 
stockings,  with  cootikens  or  gaiters.  In  cold  weather  he 
would  have  a  plaid  of  black  and  white  check  wrapped 
round  his  shoulders.  The  same  old  man  describes  Mrs. 
Burns  as  a  good  and  prudent  housewife,  keeping  every- 
thing neat  and  tidy,  well  liked  by  her  servants,  for  whom 
she  provided  good  and  abundant  fare.  When  they  parted, 
Burns  paid  Clark  his  wages  in  full,  gave  him  a  written 
character,  and  a  shilling  for  a  fairing. 

In  the  summer  or  autumn  of  the  same  year  the  scholar- 
ly Ramsay  of  Ochtertyre  in  the  course  of  a  tour  looked  in 
on  Burns,  and  here  is  the  record  of  his  visit  which  Ram- 
say gave  in  a  letter  to  Currie.  "  Seeing  him  pass  quickly 
near  Closeburn,  I  said  to  my  companion,  '  That  is  Burns.' 
On  coming  to  the  inn,  the  hostler  toJd  us  he  would  be 
back  in  a  few  hours  to  grant  permits ;  that  where  he  met 
with  anything  seizable,  he  was  no  better  than  any  other 
gauger ;  in  everything  else  that  he  was  perfectly  a  gentle- 
man. After  leaving  a  note  to  be  delivered  to  him  on  his 
return,  I  proceeded  to  his  house,  being  curious  to  see  his 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  119 

Jean.  I  was  much  pleased  with  his  '  uxor  Sabina  qualis,' 
and  the  poet's  modest  mansion,  so  unlike  the  habitation 
of  ordinary  rustics.  In  the  evening  he  suddenly  bounced 
in  upon  us,  and  said,  as  he  entered, '  I  come,  to  use  the 
words  of  Shakespeare,  stetved  in  haste."1  In  fact,  he  had 
ridden  incredibly  fast  after  receiving  my  note.  We  fell 
into  conversation  directly,  and  soon  got  into  the  mare 
magnum  of  poetry.  He  told  me  he  had  now  gotten  a 
subject  for  a  drama,  which  he  was  to  call  Rob  McQuech- 
an's  fflshin,  from  a  popular  story  of  Robert  Bruce  being 
defeated  on  the  water  of  Cairn,  when  the  heel  of  his  boot 
having  loosened  in  his  flight,  he  applied  to  Robert  Mac- 
Quechan  to  fit  it,  who,  to  make  sure,  ran  his  awl  nine 
inches  up  the  king's  heel.  We  were  now  going  on  at  a 
great  rate,  when  Mr.  Stewart  popped  in  his  head,  which  put 
a  stop  to  our  discourse,  which  had  become  very  interesting. 
Yet  in  a  little  while  it  was  resumed,  and  such  was  the  force 
and  versatility  of  the  bard's  genius,  that  he  made  the  tears 
run  down  Mr.  Stewart's  cheeks,  albeit  unused  to  the  poetic 
strain.  From  that  time  we  met  no  more,  and  I  was  grieved 
at  the  reports  of  him  afterwards.  Poor  Burns !  we  shall 
hardly  ever  see  his  like  again.  He  was,  in  truth,  a  sort  of 
comet  in  literature,  irregular  in  its  motions,  which  did  no 
good,  proportioned  to  the  blaze  of  light  it  displayed." 

It  seems  that  during  this  autumn  there  came  a  momen- 
tary  blink  in  Burns's  clouded  sky,  a  blink  which,  alas ! 
never  brightened  into  full  sunshine.  He  had  been  but  a 
year  in  the  Excise  employment,  when,  through  the  renew- 
ed kindness  of  Mr.  Graham  of  Fintray,  there  seemed  a  near 
prospect  of  his  being  promoted  to  a  supervisorship,  which 
would  have  given  him  an  income  of  200?.  a  year.  So 
probable  at  the  time  did  it  seem,  that  his  friend  Nicol 
wrote  to  Ainslie  expressing  some  fears  that  the  poet  might 


120  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

turn  his  back  on  his  old  friends  when  to  the  pride  of  ap- 
plauded genius  was  added  the  pride  of  office  and  income. 
This  may  have  been  ironical  on  Nicol's  part,  but  he  might 
have  spared  his  irony  on  his  friend,  for  the  promotion 
never  came. 

But  what  had  Burns  been  doing  for  the  last  year  in 
poetic  production  ?  In  this  respect  the  whole  interval  be- 
tween the  composition  of  the  lines  To  Mary  in  Heaven, 
in  October,  1789,  and  the  autumn  of  the  succeeding  year, 
is  almost  a  blank.  Three  electioneering  ballads,  besides  a 
few  trivial  pieces,  make  np  the  whole.  There  is  not  a  line 
written  by  him  during  this  year  which,  if  it  were  deleted 
from  his  works,  would  anyway  impair  his  poetic  fame. 
But  this  long  barrenness  was  atoned  for  by  a  burst  of 
inspiration  which  came  on  him  in  the  fall  of  1790,  and 
struck  off  at  one  heat  the  matchless  Tale  of  Tarn  o'  Shan- 
ter.  It  was  to  the  meeting  already  noticed  of  Burns  with 
Captain  Grose,  the  antiquary,  at  Friars  Carse,  that  we  owe 
this  wonderful  poem.  The  poet  and  the  antiquary  suited 
each  other  exactly,  and  they  soon  became 

"  Unco  pack  and  thick  thegither." 

Burns  asked  his  friend,  when  he  reached  Ayrshire,  to  make 
a  drawing  of  Alloway  kirk,  and  include  it  in  his  sketches, 
for  it  was  dear  to  him  because  it  was  the  resting-place  of 
his  father,  and  there  he  himself  might  some  day  lay  his 
bones.  To  induce  Grose  to  do  this,  Burns  told  him  that 
Alloway  kirk  was  the  scene  of  many  witch  stories  and 
weird  sights.  The  antiquary  replied,  "  Write  you  a  poem 
on  the  scene,  and  I'll  put  in  the  verses  with  an  engraving 
of  the  ruin."  Burns  having  found  a  fitting  day  and  hour, 
when  "  his  barmy  noddle  was  working  prime,"  walked  out 
to  his  favourite  path  down  the  western  bank  of  the  river. 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELL1SLAND.  121 

The  poem  was  the  work  of  one  day,  of  which  Mrs.  Burns 
retained  a  vivid  recollection.  Her  husband  had  spent  most 
of  the  day  by  the  river  side,  and  in  the  afternoon  she  join- 
ed him  with  her  two  children.  He  was  busily  engaged 
crooning  to  himsel ;  and  Mrs.  Burns,  perceiving  that  her 
presence  was  an  interruption,  loitered  behind  with  her  lit- 
tle ones  among  the  broom.  Her  attention  was  presently 
attracted  by  the  strange  and  wild  gesticulations  of  the 
bard,  who  was  now  seen  at  some  distance,  agonized  with 
an  ungovernable  access  of  joy.  He  was  reciting  very  loud, 
and  with  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks,  those  animated 
verses  which  he  had  just  conceived — 

"  Now  Tarn  !  0  Tarn  !  had  thae  been  queans, 
A'  plump  and  strappin'  in  their  teens." 

"  I  wish  ye  had  seen  him,"  said  his  wife ;  "  he  was  in 
such  ecstasy  that  the  tears  were  happing  down  his  cheeks." 
These  last  words  are  given  by  Allan  Cunningham,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  above  account,  which  Lockhart  got  from  a  man- 
uscript journal  of  Cromek.  The  poet  having  committed 
the  verses  to  writing  on  the  top  of  his  sod-dyke  above  the 
water,  came  into  the  house,  and  read  them  immediately  in 
high  triumph  at  the  fireside. 

Thus  in  the  case  of  two  of  Burns's  best  poems,  we  have 
an  account  of  the  bard  as  he  appeared  in  his  hour  of  in- 
spiration, not  to  any  literary  friend  bent  on  pictorial  effect, 
but  from  the  plain  narrative  of  his  simple  and  admiring 
wife.  Burns  speaks  of  Tarn  d1  Shanter  as  his  first  at- 
tempt at  a  tale  in  verse — unfortunately  it  was  also  his  last. 
He  himself  regarded  it  as  his  master-piece  of  all  his  poems, 
and  posterity  has  not,  I  believe,  reversed  the  judgment. 

In  this,  one  of  his  happiest  flights,  Burns's  imagination 
bore  him  from  the  vale  of  Nith  back  to  the  banks  of 

6* 


122  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

Doon,  and  to  the  weird  tales  he  had  there  heard  in  child- 
hood, told  by  the  winter  firesides.  The  characters  of  the 
poem  have  been  identified;  that  of  Tarn  is  taken  from  a 
farmer,  Douglas  Graham,  who  lived  at  the  farm  of  Shan- 
ter,  in  the  parish  of  Kirkoswald.  He  had  a  scolding  wife, 
called  Helen  McTaggart,  and  the  tombstones  of  both  are 
pointed  out  in  Kirkoswald  kirkyard.  Souter  Johnnie  is 
more  uncertain,  but  is  supposed,  with  some  probability,  to 
have  been  John  Davidson,  a  shoemaker,  who  lies  buried  in 
the  same  place.  Yet,  from  Burns's  poem  we  would  gather 
that  this  latter  lived  in  Ayr.  But  these  things  matter  lit- 
tle. From  his  experience  of  the  smuggling  farmers  of 
Kirkoswald,  among  whom  "  he  first  became  acquainted 
with  scenes  of  swaggering  and  riot,"  and  his  remembrance 
of  the  tales  that  haunted  the  spot  where  he  passed  his 
childhood,  combined  with  his  knowledge  of  the  peasantry, 
their  habits  and  superstitions,  Burns's  imagination  wove 
the  inimitable  tale. 

After  this,  the  best  poetic  offspring  of  the  Ellisland 
period,  Burns  composed  only  a  few  short  pieces  during 
his  tenancy  of  that  farm.  Among  these,  however,  was  one 
which  cannot  be  passed  over.  In  January,  1791,  the  Earl 
of  Glencairn,  who  had  been  his  first,  and  it  may  be  almost 
said,  his  only  real  friend  and  patron  among  the  Scottish 
peerage,  died  at  the  early  age  of  forty-two,  just  as  he  re- 
turned to  Falmouth  after  a  vain  search  for  health  abroad. 
Burns  had  always  loved  and  honoured  Lord  Glencairn,  as 
well  he  might — although  his  lordship's  gentleness  had  not 
always  missed  giving  offence  to  the  poet's  sensitive  and 
proud  spirit.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  he  was  the  best  patron 
whom  Burns  had  found,  or  was  ever  to  find  among  his 
countrymen.  When  then  he  heard  of  the  earl's  death,  he 
mournec  his  loss  as  that  of  a  true  friend,  and  poured  forth 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAXD.  123 

a  fine  lament,  which  concludes  with  the  following  well 
known  5ines: 

"  The  bridegroom  may  forget  the  bride, 

Was  made  his  wedded  wife  yestreen ; 
The  monarch  may  forget  the  crown, 

That  on  his  head  an  hour  has  been ; 
The  mother  may  forget  the  child, 

That  smiles  sae  sweetly  on  her  knee ; 
But  I'll  remember  thee,  Glencairn, 

And  a'  that  thou  hast  done  for  me." 

Burns's  elegies,  except  when  they  are  comical,  are  not 
among  his  happiest  efforts.  Some  of  them  are  frigid  and 
affected.  But  this  was  the  o-enuine  lanpniap-e  of  sincere 
grief.  He  afterwards  showed  the  permanence  of  his  af- 
fection by  calling  one  of  his  boys  James  Glencairn. 

A  few  songs  make  up  the  roll  of  the  Ellisland  produc- 
tions during  1791.  One  only  of  these  is  noteworthy — 
that  most  popular  song,  The  Banks  o'  Doon.  His  own 
words  in  sending  it  to  a  friend  are  these : — "  March,  1791. 
While  here  I  sit,  sad  and  solitary,  by  the  side  of  a  fire,  in 
a  little  country  inn,  and  drying  my  wet  clothes,  in  pops  a 
poor  fellow  of  a  sodger,  and  tells  me  he  is  going  to  Ayr. 
By  heavens !  say  I  to  myself,  with  a  tide  of  good  spirits, 
which  the  magic  of  that  sound,  'Auld  Toon  o'  Ayr/  con- 
jured up,  I  will  send  my  last  song  to  Mr.  Ballantine." 

Then  he  gives  the  second  and  best  version  of  the  song, 
beginning  thus : 

"  Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonnie  Doon, 
How  can  ye  blume  sae  fair  ? 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 
And  I  sae  f  u'  o'  care !" 

The  latest  edition  of  Burns's  works,  by  Mr.  Scott  Doug- 
las, gives  three  different  versions  of  this  song.     Any  one 


124  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

who  will  compare  these,  will  see  the  truth  of  that  remark 
ol  tne  poet,  in  one  of  nis  letters  to  Dr.  Moore,  "  I  have 
no  doubt  that  the  knack,  the  aptitude  to  learn  the  Muses 
trade  is  a  gift  bestowed  by  Him  who  forms  the  secret  bias 
of  the  soul ;  but  I  as  firmly  believe  that  excellence  in  the 
profession  is  the  fruit  of  industry,  attention,  labour,  and 
pains ;  at  least  I  am  resolved  to  try  my  doctrine  by  the 
test  of  experience." 

Tbe  second  version  was  that  which  Burns  wrought  out 
by  careful  revision,  from  an  earlier  one.  Compare,  for  in- 
stance, with  the  verse  given  above,  the  first  verse  as  origi- 
nally struck  off : 

"  Sweet  are  the  banks,  the  banks  of  Doon, 
The  spreading  flowers  are  fair, 
And  everything  is  blythe  and  glad, 
But  I  am  fu'  of  care." 

And  the  other  changes  he  made  on  the  first  draught  are 
all  in  the  way  of  improvement.  It  is  painful  to  know. 
on  the  authority  of  Allan  Cunningham,  that  he  who  com- 
posed this  pure  and  perfect  song,  and  many  another  sucu, 
sometimes  chose  to  work  in  baser  metal,  and  that  song- 
ware  of  a  lower  kind  escaped  from  his  hands  into  the 
press,  and  could  never  afterwards  be  recalled. 

When  Burns  told  Dr.  Moore  that  he  was  resolved  to  try 
by  the  test  of  experience  the  doctrine  that  good  and  per- 
manent poetry  could  not  be  composed  without  industry 
and  pains,  he  had  in  view  other  and  wider  plans  of  com- 
position than  any  which  he  ever  realized.  He  told  Ram- 
say of  Ochtertyre,  as  we  have  seen,  that  he  had  in  view  to 
render  into  poetry  a  tradition  he  had  found  of  an  advent- 
ure in  humble  life  which  Bruce  met  with  during  his  wan- 
derings.    Whether  he  ever  did  more  than  think  over  the 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  125 

story  of  Rob  McQuechan's  Elshin,  or  into  what  poetic  form 
he  intended  to  cast  it,  we  know  not.  As  Sir  Walter  said, 
any  poem  he  might  have  produced  on  this  subject  would 
certainly  have  wanted  that  tinge  of  chivalrous  feeling  which 
the  manners  of  the  age  and  the  character  of  the  king  alike 
demanded.  But  with  Burns's  ardent  admiration  of  Brace, 
and  that  power  of  combining  the  most  homely  and  humor- 
ous incidents  with  the  pathetic  and  the  sublime,  which  he 
displayed  in  Tarn  o'  Shanter,  we  cannot  but  regret  that  he 
never  had  the  leisure  and  freedom  from  care  which  would 
have  allowed  him  to  try  his  hand  on  a  subject  so  entirely 
to  his  mind. 

Besides  this,  he  had  evidently,  during  his  sojourn  at  Ellis- 
land,  meditated  some  large  dramatic  attempt.  He  wrote  to 
one  of  his  correspondents  that  he  had  set  himself  to  study 
Shakespeare,  and  intended  to  master  all  the  greatest  drama- 
tists, both  of  England  and  France,  with  a  view  to  a  dramatic 
effort  of  his  own.  If  he  had  attempted  it  in  pure  English, 
we  may  venture  to  predict  that  he  would  have  failed.  But 
had  he  allowed  himself  that  free  use  of  the  Scottish  dialect 
of  which  he  was  the  supreme  master,  especially  if  he  had 
shaped  the  subject  into  a  lyrical  drama,  no  one  can  say 
what  he  might  not  have  achieved.  Many  of  his  smaller 
poems  show  that  he  possessed  the  genuine  dramatic  vein. 
The  Jolly  Beggars,  unpleasant  as  from  its  grossness  it  is, 
shows  the  presence  of  this  vein  in  a  very  high  degree,  see- 
ing that  from  materials  so  unpromising  he  could  make  so 
much.  As  Mr.  Lockhart  has  said,  "That  extraordinary 
sketch,  coupled  with  his  later  lyrics  in  a  higher  vein,  is 
enough  to  show  that  in  him  we  had  a  master  capable  of 
placing  the  musical  drama  on  a  level  with  the  loftiest  of 
our  classical  forms." 

Regrets  have  been  expressed  that  Burns,  instead  of  ad- 


126  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

dressing  himself  to  these  high  poetic  enterprises,  which  had 
certainly  hovered  before  him,  frittered  away  so  much  of 
his  time  in  composing  for  musical  collections  a  large  num- 
ber of  songs,  the  very  abundance  of  which  must  have  les- 
sened their  quality.  And  yet  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
this  urgent  demand  for  songs,  made  on  him  by  Johnson 
and  Thomson,  was  not  the  only  literary  call  to  which  he 
would  in  his  circumstances  have  responded.  These  calls 
could  be  met,  by  sudden  efforts,  at  leisure  moments,  when 
some  occasional  blink  of  momentary  inspiration  came  over 
him.  Great  poems  necessarily  presuppose  that  the  orig- 
inal inspiration  is  sustained  by  concentrated  purpose  and 
long-sustained  effort ;  mental  habits,  which  to  a  nature  like 
Burns's  must  have  at  all  times  been  difficult,  and  which  his 
circumstances  during  his  later  years  rendered  simply  im- 
possible. From  the  first  he  had  seen  that  his  farm  would 
not  pay,  and  each  succeeding  year  confirmed  him  in  this 
conviction.  To  escape  what  he  calls  "the  crushing  grip 
of  poverty,  which,  alas !  I  fear,  is  less  or  more  fatal  to  the 
worth  and  purity  of  the  noblest  souls,"  he  had,  within  a 
year  after  entering  Ellisland,  recourse  to  Excise  work.  This 
he  did  from  a  stern  sense  of  duty  to  his  wife  and  family. 
It  was,  in  fact,  one  of  the  most  marked  instances  in  which 
Burns,  contrary  to  his  too  frequent  habit,  put  pride  in  his 
pocket,  and  sacrificed  inclination  to  duty.  But  that  he 
had  not  accepted  the  yoke  without  some  painful  sense  of 
degradation,  is  shown  by  the  bitterness  of  many  of  his  re- 
marks, when  in  his  correspondence  he  alludes  to  the  sub- 
ject. There  were,  however,  times  when  he  tried  to  take  a 
brighter  view  of  it,  and  to  persuade  himself,  as  he  says  in 
a  letter  to  Lady  Harriet  Don,  that  "  one  advantage  he  had 
in  this  new  business  was  the  knowledge  it  gave  him  of  the 
various  shades  of  character  in  man — consequently  assisting 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  127 

him  in  his  trade  as  a  poet."  But,  alas !  whatever  advan- 
tages in  this  way  it  might  have  brought,  were  counteracted 
tenfold  by  other  circumstances  that  attended  it.  The  con- 
tinual calls  of  a  responsible  business,  itself  sufficient  to  oc- 
cupy a  man — when  divided  with  the  oversight  of  his  farm, 
overtasked  his  powers,  and  left  him  no  leisure  for  poetic 
work,  except  from  time  to  time  crooning  over  a  random 
song.  Then  the  habits  which  his  roving  Excise  life  must 
have  induced  were,  even  to  a  soul  less  social  than  that  of 
Burns,  perilous  in  the  extreme.  The  temptations  he  was 
in  this  way  exposed  to,  Lockhart  has  drawn  with  a  power- 
ful hand.  "  From  the  castle  to  the  cottage,  every  door 
flew  open  at  his  approach ;  and  the  old  system  of  hospital- 
ity, then  flourishing,  rendered  it  difficult  for  the  most  so- 
berly inclined  guest  to  rise  from  any  man's  board  in  the 
same  trim  that  he  sat  down  to  it.  The  farmer,  if  Burns 
was  seen  passing,  left  his  reapers,  and  trotted  by  the  side 
of  Jenny  Geddes,  until  he  could  persuade  the  bard  that  the 
day  was  hot  enough  to  demand  an  extra  libation.  If  he 
entered  an  inn  at  midnight,  after  all  the  inmates  were  in 
bed,  the  news  of  his  arrival  circulated  from  the  cellar  to 
the  garret ;  and  ere  ten  minutes  had  elapsed,  the  landlord 
and  all  his  guests  were  assembled  round  the  ingle;  the 
largest  punch-bowl  was  produced,  and — 

'  Be  ours  to-night — who  knows  what  comes  to-morrow  ?' 

was  the  language  of  every  eye  in  the  circle  that  welcomed 
him.  The  highest  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood,  when  bent 
on  special  merriment,  did  not  think  the  occasion  complete 
unless  the  wit  and  eloquence  of  Burns  were  called  in  to 
enliven  their  carousals." 

It  can  readily  be  imagined  how  distracting  such  a  life 
must  have  been,  how  fatal  to  all  mental  concentration  on 
34 


128  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

high  objects,  not  to  speak  of  the  habits  of  which  it  was 
too  sure  to  sow  the  seeds.  The  frequent  visits  to  Dum- 
fries which  his  Excise  work  entailed,  and  the  haunting  of 
the  Globe  Tavern,  already  spoken  of,  led  to  consequences 
which,  more  than  even  deep  potations,  must  have  been 
fatal  to  his  peace. 

His  stay  at  Ellisland  is  now  hastening  to  a  close.  Be- 
fore passing,  however,  from  that,  on  the  whole  the  best 
period  of  his  life  since  manhood,  one  or  two  incidents  of 
the  spring  of  1*791  must  be  mentioned.  In  the  February 
of  that  year  Burns  received  from  the  Rev.  Archibald 
Alison,  Episcopalian  clergyman  in  Edinburgh,  a  copy  of 
his  once  famous,  but  now,  I  believe,  forgotten,  Essay  on 
Taste,  which  contained  the  authorized  exposition  of  that 
theory,  so  congenial  to  Scotch  metaphysics,  that  objects 
seem  beautiful  to  us  only  because  our  minds  associate 
them  with  sensible  objects  which  have  previously  given  us 
pleasure.  In  his  letter  to  the  author,  acknowledging  the 
receipt  of  his  book,  Burns  says,  "  I  own,  sir,  at  first  glance, 
several  of  your  propositions  startle  me  as  paradoxical : 
that  the  martial  clangour  of  a  trumpet  had  something  in 
it  vastly  more  grand,  heroic,  and  sublime  than  the  twingle- 
twangle  of  a  Jew's-harp ;  that  the  delicate  flexure  of  a 
rose-twig,  when  the  half-blown  flower  is  heavy  with  the 
tears  of  the  dawn,  was  infinitely  more  beautiful  and  elegant 
than  the  upright  stub  of  a  burdock ;  and  that  from  some- 
thing innate  and  independent  of  all  association  of  ideas — 
these  I  had  set  down  as  irrefragable  orthodox  truths  until 
perusing  your  book  shook  my  faith."  These  words  so 
pierce  this  soap-bubble  of  the  metaphysicians,  that  we  can 
hardly  read  them  without  fancying  that  the  poet  meant 
them  to  be  ironical.  Dugald  Stewart  expressed  surprise 
that    the    unschooled    Ayrshire    ploughman    should    have 


T.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  129 

found  "a  distinct  conception  of  the  general  principles  of 
the  doctrine  of  association ;"  on  which  Mr.  Carlyle  re- 
marks, "  We  rather  think  that  far  subtler  things  than  the 
doctrine  of  association  had  been  of  old  familiar  to  him." 

In  looking  over  his  letters  at  this  time  (1791),  we  are 
startled  by  a  fierce  outburst  in  one  of  them,  apparently 
apropos  of  nothing.  He  had  been  recommending  to  the 
protection  of  an  Edinburgh  friend  a  schoolmaster,  whom 
he  thought  unjustly  persecuted,  when  all  at  once  he  breaks 
out :  "God  help  the  children  of  Dependence  !  Hated  and 
persecuted  by  their  enemies,  and  too  often,  alas!  almost 
unexceptionally,  received  by  their  friends  with  disrespect 
and  reproach,  under  the  thin  disguise  of  cold  civility  and 
humiliating  advice.  Oh  to  be  a  sturdy  savage,  stalking  in 
the  pride  of  his  independence,  amid  the  solitary  wilds  of 
his  deserts,  rather  than  in  civilized  life  helplessly  to  trem- 
ble for  a  subsistence,  precarious  as  the  caprice  of  a  fellow- 
creature  !  Every  man  has  his  virtues,  and  no  man  is  with- 
out his  failings ;  and  curse  on  that  privileged  plain-speak- 
ing of  friendship  which,  in  the  hour  of  my  calamity,  can- 
not reach  forth  the  helping-hand  without  at  the  same  time 
pointing  out  those  failings,  and  apportioning  them  their 
share  in  procuring  my  present  distress.  ...  I  do  not  want 
to  be  independent  that  I  may  sin,  but  I  want  to  be  inde- 
pendent in  my  sinning." 

What  may  have  been  the  cause  of  this  ferocious  ex- 
plosion there  is  no  explanation.  Whether  the  real  source 
of  it  may  not  have  lain  in  certain  facts  which  had  occurred 
during  the  past  spring,  that  must  have  rudely  broken  in 
on  the  peace  at  once  of  his  conscience  and  his  home,  we 
cannot  say.  Certainly  it  does  seem,  as  Chambers  suggests, 
like  one  of  those  sudden  outbursts  of  temper  which  fasten 
on  some  mere  passing  accident,  because  the  real  seat  of  it 


130  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

lies  too  deep  for  words.  Some  instances  of  the  same  tem- 
per we  have  already  seen.  This  is  a  sample  of  a  growing 
exasperation  of  spirit,  which  found  expression  from  time 
to  time  till  the  close  of  his  life. 

Let  us  turn  from  this  painful  subject,  to  one  of  the  only 
notices  we  get  of  him  from  a  stranger's  hand  during  the 
summer   of  1791.      Two   English   gentlemen,  who  were 
travelling,  went  to  visit  him ;    one  of  whom  has  left  an 
amusing  account  of  their  reception.     Calling  at  his  house, 
they  were  told  that  the  poet  was  by  the  river  side,  and 
thither  they  went  in  search  of  him.     On  a  rock  that  pro- 
jected into  the  stream,  they  saw  a  man  employed  in  an- 
gling, of  a  singular  appearance.      He  had  a  cap  of  fox's 
skin  on  his  head,  a  loose  great-coat  fixed  round  him  by  a 
belt,  from  which  depended  an  enormous  Highland  broad- 
sword.    It  was  Burns.     He  received  them  with  great  cor- 
diality, and  asked  them  to  share  his  humble  dinner — an 
invitation  which  they  accepted.     "  On  the  table  they  found 
boiled  beef,  with  vegetables  and  barley  broth,  after  the 
manner  of  Scotland.      After  dinner  the  bard  told  them 
ingenuously  that  he  had   no  wine,  nothing  better  than 
Highland  whiskey,  a  bottle  of  which  he  set  on  the  board. 
He  produced  at  the  same  time  his  punch-bowl,  made  of 
Inverary  marble ;   and,  mixing  it  with  water  and  sugar, 
filled  their  glasses  and  invited  them  to  drink.     The  travel- 
lers were  in  haste,  and,  besides,  the  flavour  of  the  whiskey 
to  their  southern  palates  was  scarcely  tolerable ;  but  the 
generous  poet  offered  them  his  best,  and  his  ardent  hospi- 
tality they  found  impossible  to  resist.     Burns  was  in  his 
happiest  mood,  and  the  charm  of  his  conversation  was  al- 
together fascinating.     He  ranged  over  a  variety  of  topics, 
illuminating  whatever  he  touched.     He  related  the  tales 
of  his  infancy  and  youth ;  he  recited  some  of  his  gayest 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAND.  131 

and  some  of  his  tenderest  poems ;  in  the  wildest  of  his 
strains  of  mirth  he  threw  in  some  touches  of  melancholy, 
and  spread  around  him  the  electric  emotions  of  his  power- 
ful  mind.  The  Highland  whiskey  improved  in  its  flavour; 
the  marble  bowl  was  again  and  again  emptied  and  replen- 
ished ;  the  guests  of  our  poet  forgot  the  flight  of  time  and 
the  dictates  of  prudence ;  at  the  hour  of  midnight  they 
lost  their  way  to  Dumfries,  and  could  scarcely  distinguish 
it  when  assisted  by  the  morning's  dawn.  There  is  much 
naivete  in  the  way  the  English  visitor  narrates  his  experi- 
ence of  that  '  nicht  wi'  Burns.'  " 

Mr.  Carlyle,  if  we  remember  aright,  has  smiled  incred- 
ulously at  the  story  of  the  fox-skin  cap,  the  belt,  and  the 
broadsword.  But  of  the  latter  appendage  this  is  not  the 
only  record.  Burns  himself  mentions  it  as  a  frequent  ac- 
companiment of  his  when  he  went  out  by  the  river. 

The  punch-bowl  here  mentioned  is  the  one  which  his 
father-in-law  had  wrought  for  him  as  a  marriage-gift.  It 
was,  when  Chambers  wrote  his  biography  of  Burns,  in  the 
possession  of  Mr.  Haistie,  then  M.P.  for  Paisley,  who  is 
said  to  have  refused  for  it  three  hundred  guineas — "a 
sum,"  says  Chambers,  "  that  would  have  set  Burns  on  his 
legs  for  ever." 

This  is  the  last  glimpse  we  get  of  the  poet  in  his  home 
at  Ellisland  till  the  end  came.  We  have  seen  that  he  had 
long  determined,  if  possible,  to  get  rid  of  his  farm.  He 
had  sunk  in  it  all  the  proceeds  that  remained  to  him  from 
the  sale  of  the  second  edition  of  his  poems,  and  for  this 
the  crops  he  had  hitherto  reaped  had  given  no  adequate 
return.  Three  years,  however,  were  a  short  trial,  and 
there  was  a  good  time  coming  for  all  farmers,  when  the 
war  with  France  broke  out,  and  raised  the  value  of  farm 
produce  to  a  hitherto  unknown  amount.     H  Burns  could 


132  ROBERT  BURNS.  tCHAP- 

but  have  waited  for  that ! — but  either  he  could  not,  or  he 
would  not  wait.  But  the  truth  is,  even  if  Burns  ever  had 
it  in  him  to  succeed  as  a  farmer,  that  time  was  past  when 
he  came  to  Ellisland.  Independence  at  the  plough-tail,  of 
which  he  often  boasted,  was  no  longer  possible  for  him. 
He  could  no  more  work  as  he  had  done  of  yore.  The 
habits  contracted  in  Edinburgh  had  penetrated  too  deeply. 
Even  if  he  had  not  been  withdrawn  from  his  farm  by  Ex- 
cise duties,  he  could  neither  work  continuously  himself, 
nor  make  his  servants  work.  "  Faith,"  said  a  neighbour- 
ing farmer,  "  how  could  he  miss  but  fail  ?  He  brought 
with  him  a  bevy  of  servants  from  Ayrshire.  The  lasses 
did  nothing  but  bake  bread  (that  is,  oat-cakes),  and  the 
lads  sat  by  the  fireside  and  ate  it  warm  with  ale."  Burns 
meanwhile  enjoying  himself  at  the  house  of  some  jovial 
farmer  or  convivial  laird.     How  could  he  miss  but  fail  ? 

When  he  had  resolved  on  giving  up  his  farm,  an  ar- 
rangement was  come  to  with  the  Laird  of  Dalswinton  by 
which  Burns  was  allowed  to  throw  up  his  lease  and  sell 
off  his  crops.  The  sale  took  place  in  the  last  week  in 
August  (1791).  Even  at  this  day  the  auctioneer  and  the 
bottle  always  appear  side  by  side,  as  Chambers  observes ; 
but  then  far  more  than  now-a-days.  After  the  roup,  that 
is  the  sale,  of  his  crop  was  over,  Burns,  in  one  of  his  let- 
ters, describes  the  scene  that  took  place  within  and  with- 
out his  house.  It  was  one  which  exceeded  anything  he 
had  ever  seen  in  drunken  horrors.  Mrs.  Burns  and  her 
family  fortunately  were  not  there  to  witness  it,  having 
gone  many  weeks  before  to  Ayrshire,  probably  to  be  out 
of  the  way  of  all  the  pain  that  accompanies  the  breaking 
up  of  a  country  home.  When  Burns  gave  up  his  lease, 
Mr.  Millar,  the  landlord,  sold  Ellisland  to  a  stranger,  be- 
cause the  farm  was  an  outlying  one,  inconveniently  situ- 


v.]  LIFE  AT  ELLISLAMJ.  L33 

ated,  on  a  different  side  of  the  river  from  the  rest  of  his 
estate.  It  was  in  November  or  December  that  Burns  sold 
off  his  farm -stock  and  implements  of  husbandry,  and 
moved  his  family  and  furniture  into  the  town  of  Dum- 
fries, leaving  at  Ellisland  no  memorial  of  himself,  as  Allan 
Cunningham  tells  us,  "but  a  putting-stone  with  which  he 
loved  to  exercise  his  strength,  and  3001.  of  his  money, 
sunk  beyond  redemption  in  a  speculation  from  which  all 
had  augured  happiness." 

It  is  not  without  deep  regret  that  even  now  we  think 
of  Burns's  departure  from  this  beautiful  spot.  If  there 
was  any  position  on  earth  in  which  he  could  have  been 
happy  and  fulfilled  his  genius,  it  would  have  been  on  such 
a  farm — always  providing  that  it  could  have  given  him 
the  means  of  a  comfortable  livelihood,  and  that  he  himself 
could  have  guided  his  ways  aright.  That  he  might  have 
hud  a  fair  opportunity,  how  often  one  has  wished  that  he 
could  have  met  some  landlord  who  could  have  acted  to- 
wards him,  as  the  present  Duke  of  Buccleuch  did  towards 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd  in  his  later  days,  and  have  given  a 
farm  on  which  he  could  have  sat  rent-free.  Such  an  act, 
one  is  apt  to  fancy,  would  have  been  honourable  alike  to 
giver  and  receiver.  Indeed,  a  truly  noble  nature  would 
have  been  only  too  grateful  to  find  such  an  opportunity 
put  in  his  way  of  employing  a  small  part  of  his  wealth  for 
so  good  an  end.  But  the  notions  of  modern  society, 
founded  as  they  are  so  entirely  on  individual  indepen- 
dence, for  the  most  part  preclude  the  doing  and  the  re- 
ceiving of  such  favours.  And  with  this  social  feeling  no 
man  was  ever  more  filled  than  Burns. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MIGRATION    TO    DUMFRIES. 

A  great  change  it  must  have  been  to  pass  from  the  pleas- 
ant holms  and  broomy  banks  of  the  Nith  at  Ellisland  to 
a  town  home  in  the  Wee  Vennel  of  Dumfries.  It  was, 
moreover,  a  confession  visible  to  the  world  of  what  Bums 
himself  had  long  felt,  that  his  endeavour  to  combine  the 
actual  and  the  ideal,  his  natural  calling  as  a  farmer  with 
the  exercise  of  his  gift  as  a  poet,  had  failed,  and  that 
henceforth  he  must  submit  to  a  round  of  toil,  which,  nei- 
ther in  itself  nor  in  its  surroundings,  had  anything  to  re- 
deem it  from  commonplace  drudgery.  He  must  have  felt, 
from  the  time  when  he  first  became  Exciseman,  that  he 
had  parted  company  with  all  thought  of  steadily  working 
out  his  ideal,  and  that  whatever  he  might  now  do  in  that 
way  must  be  by  random  snatches.  To  his  proud  spirit 
the  name  of  gauger  must  have  been  gall  and  wormwood, 
and  it  is  much  to  his  credit  that  for  the  sake  of  his  wife 
and  children  he  was  content  to  undergo  what  he  often  felt 
to  be  a  social  obloquy.  It  would  have  been  well  for  him 
if  this  had  been  the  only  drawback  to  his  new  calling. 
Unfortunately  the  life  into  which  it  led  him  exposed  him 
to  those  very  temptations  which  his  nature  was  least  able 
to  withstand.  If  social  indulgence  and  irregular  habits 
had  somewhat  impaired  his  better  resolves,  and  his  power 
of  poetic  concentration,  before  he  left  Ellisland,  Dumfries, 


chap,  ti]  MIGRATION  TO  DUMFRIES.  135 

and  the  society  into  which  it  threw  him,  did  with  increased 
rapidity  the  fatal  work  which  had  been  already  begun. 
His  biographers,  though  with  varying  degrees  of  emphasis, 
on  the  whole,  agree  that,  from  the  time  he  settled  in  Dum- 
fries, "his  moral  course  was  downwards." 

The  social  condition  of  Dumfries  at  the  time  when 
Burns  went  to  live  in  it  was  neither  better  nor  worse  than 
that  of  other  provincial  towns  in  Scotland.  What  that 
was,  Dr.  Chambers  has  depicted  from  his  own  youthful 
experience  of  just  such  another  country  town.  The  curse 
of  such  towns,  he  tells  us,  was  that  large  numbers  of  their 
inhabitants  were  either  half  or  wholly  idle ;  either  men 
living  on  competences,  with  nothing  to  do,  or  shopkeepers 
with  their  time  but  half  employed ;  their  only  amusement 
to  meet  in  taverns,  soak,  gossip,  and  make  stupid  personal 
jokes.  "The  weary  waste  of  spirits  and  energy  at  those 
soaking  evening  meetings  was  deplorable.  Insipid  toasts, 
petty  raillery,  empty  gabble  about  trivial  occurrences,  end- 
less disputes  on  small  questions  of  fact,  these  relieved  now 
and  then  by  a  song" — such  Chambers  describes  as  the 
items  which  made  up  provincial  town  life  in  his  younger 
days.  "A  life,"  he  says,  "it  Avas  without  progress  or 
profit,  or  anything  that  tended  to  moral  elevation."  For 
such  dull  companies  to  get  a  spirit  like  Burns  among 
them,  to  enliven  them  with  his  wit  and  eloquence,  what  a 
windfall  it  must  have  been  !  But  for  him  to  put  his  time 
and  his  powers  at  their  disposal,  how  great  the  degradation  ! 
During  the  day,  no  doubt,  he  was  employed  busily  enough 
in  doing  his  duty  as  an  Exciseman.  This  could  now  be 
done  with  less  travelling  than  in  the  Ellisland  days,  and 
did  not  require  him,  as  formerly,  to  keep  a  horse.  When 
the  day's  work  was  over,  his  small  house  in  the  Wee 
Vennel,  and  the  domestic  hearth  with  the  family  ties  gath- 


136  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

cred  round  it,  were  not  enough  for  him.     At  Ellisland  he 
had  sung — 

"  To  make  a  happy  fire-side  clime, 
For  weans  and  wife, 
Is  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 
Of  human  life. ' 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  sing  wisely,  another  to  practise 
wisdom.  Too  frequently  at  nights  Burns's  love  of  sociali- 
ty and  excitement  drove  him  forth  to  seek  the  compan- 
ionship of  neighbours  and  drouthy  cronies,  who  gathered 
habitually  at  the  Globe  Tavern  and  other  such  haunts. 
From  these  he  was  always  sure  to  meet  a  warm  welcome, 
abundant  appreciation,  and  even  flattery,  for  to  this  he 
was  not  inaccessible ;  while  their  humble  station  did  not 
jar  in  any  way  on  his  social  prejudices,  nor  their  mediocre 
talents  interfere  with  his  love  of  pre-eminence.  In  such 
companies  Burns  no  doubt  had  the  gratification  of  feeling 
that  he  was,  what  is  proverbially  called,  cock  of  the  walk. 
The  desire  to  be  so  probably  grew  with  that  growing  dis- 
like to  the  rich  and  the  titled,  which  was  observed  in  him 
after  he  came  to  Dumfries.  In  earlier  days  we  have  seen 
that  he  did  not  shrink  from  the  society  of  the  greatest 
magnates,  and  when  they  showed  him  that  deference 
which  he  thought  his  due,  he  even  enjoyed  it.  But  now 
so  bitter  had  grown  his  scorn  and  dislike  of  the  upper 
classes,  that  we  are  told  that  if  any  one  named  a  lord,  or 
alluded  to  a  man  of  rank  in  his  presence,  he  instantly 
"crushed  the  offender  in  an  epigram,  or  insulted  him  by 
some  sarcastic  sally."  In  a  letter  written  during  his  first 
year  at  Dumfries,  this  is  the  way  he  speaks  of  his  daily 
occupations : — "  Hurry  of  business,  grinding  the  faces  of 
the  publican  and  the  sinner  on  the  merciless  wheels  of 
the  Excise,  making  ballads,  and  then  drinking  and  singing 


vi.]  MIGRATION  TO  DUMFRIES.  137 

them  ;  and  over  and  above  all,  correcting  the  press  of  two 
different  publications."  But  besides  these  duties  by  day 
and  the  convivialities  by  night,  there  were  other  calls  on 
his  time  and  strength,  to  which  Burns  was  by  his  repu- 
tation exposed.  When  those  of  the  country  gentry  whom 
he  still  knew  were  in  Dumfries  for  some  hours,  or  when 
any  party  of  strangers  passing  through  the  town  had  an 
idle  evening  on  their  hands,  it  seems  to  have  been  their 
custom  to  summon  Burns  to  assist  them  in  spending  it ; 
and  he  was  weak  enough,  on  receiving  the  message,  to 
leave  his  home  and  adjourn  to  the  Globe,  the  George,  or 
the  King's  Arms,  there  to  drink  with  them  late  into  the 
night,  and  waste  his  powers  for  their  amusement.  Verily, 
a  Samson,  as  has  been  said,  making  sport  for  Philistines ! 
To  one  such  invitation  his  impromptu  answer  was — 

"  The  king's  most  humble  servant,  I 
Can  scarcely  spare  a  minute ; 
But  I'll  be  with  you  by-and-by, 
Or  else  the  devil's  in  it." 

And  this  we  may  be  sure  was  the  spirit  of  many  an- 
other reply  to  these  ill-omened  invitations.  It  would  have 
been  well  if,  on  these  occasions,  the  pride  he  boasted  of 
had  stood  him  in  better  stead,  and  repelled  such  unjustifi- 
able intrusions.  But  in  this,  as  in  so  many  other  respects, 
Burns  was  the  most  inconsistent  of  men. 

From  the  time  of  his  migration  to  Dumfries,  it  would 
appear  that  he  was  gradually  dropped  out  of  an  acquaint- 
ance by  most  of  the  Dumfriesshire  lairds,  as  he  had  long 
been  by  the  parochial  and  all  other  ministers.  I  have 
only  conversed  with  one  person  who  remembered  in  his 
boyhood  to  have  seen  Burns.  He  was  the  son  of  a  Dum- 
friesshire baronet,  the  representative  of  the  House  of  Red- 

n 


138  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

gauntlet.  The  poet  was  frequently  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  baronet's  country  seat,  but  the  old  gentleman  so 
highly  disapproved  of  "  Robbie  Burns,"  that  he  forbade 
his  sons  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  My  inform- 
ant, therefore,  though  he  had  often  seen,  had  never  spoken 
to  the  poet.  When  I  conversed  with  him,  his  age  was 
nigh  four -score  years,  and  the  one  thing  he  remem- 
bered about  Burns  was  "the  blink  of  his  black  eye." 
This  is  probably  but  a  sample  of  the  feeling  with  which 
Burns  was  regarded  by  most  of  the  country  gentry  around 
Dumfries.  What  were  the  various  ingredients  that  made 
up  their  dislike  of  him  it  is  not  easy  now  exactly  to  de- 
termine. Politics  most  likely  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with 
it,  for  they  were  Tories  and  aristocrats,  Burns  was  a  Whig 
and  something  more.  Though  politics  may  have  formed 
the  chief,  they  were  not  probably  the  only  element  in  their 
aversion.  Yet  though  the  majority  of  the  county  fami- 
lies turned  their  backs  on  him,  there  were  some  with  which 
be  still  continued  intimate. 

These  were  either  the  few  Whig  magnates  of  the  south- 
ern counties,  whose  political  projects  he  supported  by  elec- 
tioneering ballads,  charged  with  all  the  powers  of  sarcasm 
he  could  wield ;  or  those  still  fewer,  whose  literary  tastes 
were  strong  enough  to  make  them  willing,  for  the  sake  of 
his  genius,  to  tolerate  both  his  radical  politics  and  his  ir- 
regular life.  Among  these  latter  was  a  younger  brother 
of  Burns' s  old  friend,  Glen  Riddel,  Mr.  Walter  Riddel,  who 
with  his  wife  had  settled  at  a  place  four  miles  from  Dum- 
fries, formerly  called  Goldie-lea,  but  named  after  Mrs.  Rid- 
del's maiden  name,  Woodley  Park.  Mrs.  Riddel  was  hand' 
some,  clever,  witty,  not  without  some  tincture  of  letters, 
and  some  turn  for  verse -making.  She  and  her  husband 
welcomed  the  poet  to  Woodley  Park,  where  for  two  years 


vi.J  MIGRATION  TO  DUMFRIES.  139 

he  was  a  constant  and  favourite  guest.  The  lady's  wit 
and  literary  taste  found,  it  may  be  believed,  no  other  so 
responsive  spirit  in  all  the  south  of  Scotland.  In  the  third 
year  came  a  breach  in  their  friendship,  followed  by  a  sav- 
age lampoon  of  Burns  on  the  lady,  because  she  did  not  at 
once  accept  his  apology ;  then  a  period  of  estrangement 
After  an  interval,  however,  the  Riddels  forgave  the  insult, 
and  were  reconciled  to  the  poet,  and  when  the  end  came, 
Mrs.  Riddel  did  her  best  to  befriend  him,  and  to  do  hon- 
our to  his  memory  when  he  was  gone. 

It  ought  perhaps  to  have  been  mentioned  before,  tbat 
about  the  time  of  Burns's  first  settling  at  Dumfries,  that  is 
towards  the  close  of  1791,  he  paid  his  last  visit  to  Edin- 
burgh. It  was  occasioned  by  the  news  that  Clarinda  was 
about  to  sail  for  the  West  Indies,  in  search  of  the  husband 
wbo  bad  forsaken  her.  Since  Burns's  marriage  the  silence 
between  them  seems  to  have  been  broken  by  only  two  let- 
ters to  Clarinda  from  Ellisland.  In  the  first  of  these  he 
resents  the  name  of  "  villain,"  with  which  she  appears  to 
have  saluted  him.  In  the  second  he  admits  that  his  past 
conduct  had  been  wrong,  but  concludes  by  repeating  his 
error  and  enclosing  a  song  addressed  to  her  in  the  most 
exaggerated  strain  of  love.  Now  he  rushed  to  Edinburgh 
to  see  her  once  more  before  she  sailed.  The  interview 
was  a  brief  and  burned  one,  and  no  record  of  it  remains, 
except  some  letters  and  a  few  impassioned  lyrics  which 
about  that  time  he  addressed  to  her.  The  first  letter  is 
stiff  and  formal,  as  if  to  break  the  ice  of  long  estrano-e- 
ment.  The  others  are  in  the  last  strain  of  rapturous  de- 
votion— language  which,  if  feigned,  is  the  height  of  folly ; 
if  real,  is  worse.  The  lyrics  are  some  of  them  strained 
and  artificial.     One,  however,  stands  out  from  all  the  rest, 

as  one  of  the  most  impassioned  effusions  that  Burns  ever 
K 


140  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

poured  forth.  It  contains  that  one  consummate  stanza 
in  which  Scott,  Byron,  and  many  more,  saw  concentrated 
"  the  essence  of  a  thousaud  love-tales  " — 

"  Had  we  never  loved  so  kindly, 
Had  we  never  loved  so  blindly ; 
Never  met,  or  never  parted, 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted." 

After  a  time  Mrs.  M'Lehose  returned  from  the  West 
Indies,  but  without  having  recovered  her  truant  husband. 
On  her  return,  one  or  two  more  letters  Burns  wrote  to  her 
in  the  old  exaggerated  strain — the  last  in  June,  1794 — af- 
ter which  Clarinda  disappears  from  the  scene. 

Other  Delilahs  on  a  smaller  scale  Burns  met  with  dur- 
ing his  Dumfries  sojourn,  and  to  these  he  was  ever  and 
anon  addressing  songs  of  fancied  love.  By  the  attentions 
which  the  wayward  husband  was  continually  paying  to 
ladies  and  others  into  whose  society  his  wife  could  not 
accompany  him,  the  patience  of  "  bonny  Jean,"  it  may 
easily  be  conceived,  must  have  been  severely  tried. 

It  would  have  been  well,  however,  if  stray  flirtations 
and  Platonic  affections  had  been  all  that  could  be  laid  to 
his  charge.  But  there  is  a  darker  story.  The  facts  of  it 
are  told  by  Chambers  in  connexion  with  the  earlier  part 
of  the  Dumfries  period,  and  need  not  be  repeated  here. 
Mrs.  Burns  is  said  to  have  been  a  marvel  of  long-suffering 
and  forgivingness ;  but  the  way  she  bore  those  wrongs 
must  have  touched  her  husband's  better  nature,  and  pierced 
him  to  the  quick.  When  his  calmer  moments  came,  that 
very  mildness  must  have  made  him  feel,  as  nothing  else 
could,  what  self-reproach  was,  and  what 

"  Self-contempt  bitterer  to  drink  than  blood." 
To  the  pangs  of  that  remorse  have,  I  doubt  not,  been  tru- 


vi.]  MIGRATION  TO  DUMFRIES.    .  141 

ly  attributed  those  bitter  outpourings  of  disgust  with  the 
world  and  -with  society  which  are  to  be  found  in  some  of 
his  letters,  especially  in  those  of  his  later  years.  Some 
samples  of  these  outbreaks  have  been  given ;  more  might 
easily  have  been  added.  The  injuries  he  may  have  re- 
ceived from  the  world  and  society,  what  were  they  com- 
pared with  those  which  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  he 
had  inflicted  on  himself?  It  is  when  a  man's  own  con- 
science is  against  him  that  the  world  looks  worst. 

During  the  first  year  at  Dumfries,  Burns  for  the  first 
time  began  to  dabble  in  politics,  which  ere  long  landed 
him  in  serious  trouble.  Before  this,  though  he  had  pass- 
ed for  a  sort  of  Jacobite,  he  had  been  in  reality  a  "Whig. 
While  he  lived  iu  Edinburgh  he  had  consorted  more  with 
Whigs  than  with  Tories,  but  yet  he  had  not  in  any  marked 
way  committed  himself  as  a  partisan.  The  only  exception 
to  this  were  some  expressions  in  his  poetry  favourable  to 
the  Stuarts,  and  his  avowed  dislike  to  the  Brunswick  dy- 
nasty. Yet,  notwithstanding  these,  his  Jacobitism  was  but 
skin  deep.  It  was  only  with  him,  as  with  so  many  anoth- 
er Scot  of  that  day,  the  expression  of  his  discontent  with 
the  Union  of  1707,  and  his  sense  of  the  national  degra- 
dation that  had  followed  it.  When  in  song  he  sighed  to 
see  Jamie  come  hame,  this  was  only  a  sentimental  protest 
against  the  existing  order  of  things.  But  by  the  time  he 
came  to  Dumfries  the  day  of  Jacobitism  was  over,  and 
the  whole  aspect  of  the  political  heavens  seemed  dark  with 
coming  change.  The  French  Revolution  was  in  full  swing, 
and  vibrations  of  it  were  felt  in  the  remotest  corners  of 
Europe.  These  reached  even  to  the  dull  provincial  towns 
of  Scotland,  and  roused  the  pot-house  politicians  with 
whom  Burns  consorted,  at  the  Globe  and  other  taverns,  to 
unwonted  excitement.     Under  this  new  stimulus,  Burns's 


142  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

previous  Jacobitism  passed  towards  the  opposite,  but  not 
very  distant,  extreme  of  Jacobinism.  At  these  gatherings 
we  may  easily  imagine  that,  with  his  native  eloquence,  his 
debating  power,  trained  in  the  Tarbolton  Club,  and  his 
ambition  to  shine  as  a  public  speaker,  the  voice  of  Burns 
would  be  the  loudest  and  most  vehement.  Liberty,  Equal- 
ity, Fraternity,  these  were  words  which  must  have  found 
an  echo  in  his  inmost  heart.  But  it  was  not  only  the 
abstract  rights  of  man,  but  the  concrete  wrongs  of  Scot- 
land that  would  be  there  discussed.  And  wrongs  no 
doubt  there  were,  under  which  Scotland  was  suffering, 
ever  since  the  Union  had  destroyed  not  only  her  national- 
ity, but  almost  her  political  existence.  The  franchise  had 
become  very  close — in  the  counties  restricted  to  a  few  of 
the  chief  families — in  the  boroughs  thrown  into  the  hands 
of  the  Baillies,  who  were  venal  beyond  conception.  It 
was  the  day,  too,  of  Henry  Dundas.  A  prominent  mem- 
ber of  the  Pitt  administration,  he  ruled  Scotland  as  an 
autocrat,  and  as  the  dispenser  of  all  her  patronage.  A 
patriotic  autocrat  no  doubt,  loving  his  country,  and  pro- 
viding well  for  those  of  her  people  whom  he  favoured — 
still  an  autocrat.  The  despotism  of  Dundas  has  been 
pictured,  in  colours  we  may  well  believe  sufficiently  strong, 
by  Lord  Cockburn  and  others  bent  on  inditing  the  Epic 
of  Whiggery,  in  which  they  and  their  friends  should  fig- 
ure as  heroes  and  martyrs.  But  whatever  may  be  said 
against  Dundas's  regime  as  a  permanent  system,  it  must 
be  allowed  that  this  was  no  time  to  remodel  it  when  Eng- 
land was  face  to  face  with  the  French  troubles.  When 
the  tempest  is  breaking  over  the  ship,  the  captain  may 
reasonably  be  excused  for  thinking  that  the  moment  would 
be  ill  chosen  for  renewing  cordage  or  repairing  timbers. 
Whatever  may  have  been  right  in  a  time  of  quiet,  it  was 


ti.]  MIGRATION  TO  DUMFRIES.  14S 

not  unnatural  that  the  Pitt  administration  should  postpone 
all  thoughts  of  reform,  till  the  vessel  of  the  State  had 
weathered  the  storm  which  was  then  upon  her. 

Besides  his  conviction  as  to  public  wrongs  to  be  re- 
dressed, Burns  had,  he  thought,  personal  grievances  to 
complain  of,  which,  as  is  so  often  seen,  added  fuel  to  his 
reforming  zeal.  His  great  powers,  which  he  believed  en- 
titled him  to  a  very  different  position,  were  unacknowl- 
edged and  disregarded  by  the  then  dispensers  of  patron- 
age. Once  he  had  been  an  admirer  of  Pitt,  latterly  he 
could  not  bear  the  mention  of  his  name.  Of  the  miuistry, 
Addington,  we  have  seen,  was  fully  alive  to  his  merits,  and 
pressed  his  claims  on  Pitt,  who  himself  was  quite  awake 
to  the  charm  of  Burns's  poetry.  The  Premier,  it  is  said, 
"  pushed  the  bottle  on  to  Dundas,  and  did  nothing  " — to 
Dundas,  too  practical  and  too  prosaic  to  waste  a  thought 
on  poets  and  poetry.  Latterly  this  neglect  of  him  by 
public  men  preyed  on  the  spirit  of  Burns,  and  was  seldom 
absent  from  his  thoughts.  It  added  force,  no  doubt,  to 
the  rapture  with  which  he,  like  all  the  younger  poets  of 
the  time,  hailed  the  French  Revolution,  and  the  fancied 
dawn  of  that  day,  which  would  place  plebeian  genius  and 
worth  in  those  high  places,  whence  titled  emptiness  and 
landed  incapacity  would  be  at  length  thrust  ignominiously 
down. 

Burns  had  not  been  more  than  three  months  in  Dum- 
fries, before  he  found  an  opportunity  of  testifying  by  deed 
his  sympathy  with  the  French  Revolutionists.  At  that 
time  the  whole  coast  of  the  Sol  way  swarmed  with  smug- 
gling vessels,  carrying  on  a  contraband  traffic,  and  manned 
by  men  of  reckless  character,  like  the  Dirk  Hatteraick  of 
Guy  Mannering.  In  1792,  a  suspicious-looking  brig  ap- 
peared in  the  Solway,  aud  Burns,  with  other  excisemen, 
35 


144  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

was  set  to  watch  her  motions.  She  got  into  shallow 
water,  when  the  gaugers,  enforced  by  some  dragoons, 
waded  out  to  her,  and  Burns,  sword  in  hand,  was  the  first 
to  board  her.  The  captured  brig  "  Rosamond,"  with  all 
her  arms  and  stores,  was  sold  next  day  at  Dumfries,  and 
Burns  became  the  purchaser  of  four  of  her  guns.  These 
he  sent,  with  a  letter,  to  the  French  Legislative  Assem- 
bly, requesting  them  to  accept  the  present  as  a  mark  of 
his  admiration  and  sympathy.  The  guns  with  the  letter 
never  reached  their  destination.  They  were,  however, 
intercepted  by  the  Custom-house  officers  at  Dover,  and 
Burns  at  once  became  a  suspected  man  in  the  eye  of  the 
Government.  Lockkart,  who  tells  this  incident,  connects 
with  it  the  song,  The  DeiVs  awa1  v$  the  Exciseman,  which 
Burns,  he  said,  composed  while  waiting  on  the  shore  to 
watch  the  brig.  But  Mr.  Scott  Douglas  doubts  whether 
the  song  is  referable  to  this  occasion.  However  this  may 
be,  the  folly  of  Burns's  act  can  hardly  be  disputed.  He 
was  in  the  employ  of  Government,  and  had  no  right  to 
express  in  this  way  his  sympathy  with  a  movement 
which,  he  must  have  known,  the  Government,  under  whom 
he  served,  regarded,  if  not  yet  with  open  hostility,  at  least 
with  jealous  suspicion.  Men  who  think  it  part  of  their 
personal  right  and  public  duty  unreservedly  to  express,  by 
word  and  deed,  their  views  on  politics,  had  better  not  seek 
employment  in  the  public  service.  Burns  having  once 
drawn  upon  himself  the  suspicions  of  his  superiors,  all  his 
words  and  actions  were  no  doubt  closely  watched.  It  was 
found  that  he  "gat  the  Gazetteer,"  a  revolutionary  print 
published  in  Edinburgh,  which  only  the  most  extreme 
men  patronized,  and  which  after  a  few  months'  existence 
was  suppressed  by  Government.  As  the  year  1792  drew 
to  a  close,  the  political  heaven,  both  at  home  and  abroad, 


vi.]  MIGRATION  TO  DUMFRIES.  145 

became  ominously  dark.  In  Paris  the  king  was  in  prison, 
the  Reign  of  Terror  had  begun,  and  innocent  blood  of 
loyalists  flowed  freely  in  the  streets ;  the  republic  which 
had  been  established  was  threatening  to  propagate  its 
principles  in  other  countries  by  force  of  arms.  In  this 
country,  what  at  the  beginning  of  the  year  had  been  but 
suspicion  of  France,  was  now  turned  to  avowed  hostility, 
and  war  against  the  republic  was  on  the  eve  of  being 
declared.  There  were  uneasy  symptoms,  too,  at  home. 
Tom  Paine's  Rights  of  Man  and  Age  of  Reason  were 
spreading  questionable  doctrines  and  fomenting  disaffec- 
tion. Societies  named  Friends  of  the  People  were  formed 
in  Edinburgh  and  the  chief  towns  of  Scotland,  to  demand 
reform  of  the  representation  and  other  changes,  which, 
made  at  such  a  time,  were  believed  by  those  in  power  to 
cover  seditious  aims.  At  such  a  crisis  any  government 
might  be  expected  to  see  that  all  its  officers,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  were  well  affected.  But  though 
the  Reign  of  Terror  had  alarmed  many  others  who  had 
at  first  looked  favourably  on  the  Revolution  in  France, 
Burns' s  ardour  in  its  cause  was  no  whit  abated.  He  even 
denounced  the  war  on  which  the  ministry  had  determined ; 
he  openly  reviled  the  men  in  power ;  and  went  so  far  in 
his  avowal  of  democracy  that  at  a  social  meeting,  he  pro- 
posed as  a  toast,  "  Here's  the  last  verse  of  the  last  chapter 
of  the  last  Book  of  Kings."  This  would  seem  to  be  but 
one  specimen  of  the  freedom  of  political  speech  in  which 
Burns  at  this  time  habitually  indulged — the  truculent  way 
in  which  he  flaunted  defiance  in  the  face  of  authority.  It 
would  not  have  been  surprising  if  at  any  time  the  Govern- 
ment had  ordered  inquiry  to  be  made  into  such  conduct, 
much  less  in  such  a  season  of  anxiety  and  distrust.  That 
an  inquiry  was  made  is  undoubted ;  but  as  to  the  result 

V* 


146  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

which  followed  it,  there  is  uncertainty.  Some  have 
thought  that  the  poet  received  from  his  superiors  only 
a  slight  hint  or  caution  to  be  more  careful  in  future. 
Others  believed,  that  the  matter  went  so  far  that  he  was 
in  serious  danger  of  dismissal  from  his  post;  and  that 
this  was  only  averted  by  the  timely  interposition  of  some 
kind  and  powerful  friends.  That  Burns  himself  took  a 
serious  view  of  it,  and  was  sufficiently  excited  and  alarmed, 
may  be  seen  from  two  letters  which  he  wrote,  the  one  at 
the  time  of  the  occurrence,  the  other  soon  after  it.  It 
was  thus  that  in  December,  1792,  he  addressed  Mr.  Graham 
of  Fintray,  the  same  person  whose  good  offices  had  at  first 
obtained  for  the  poet  his  appointment,  and  whose  kind- 
ness never  failed  him  while  he  lived : 

"Sir,  —  I  have  been  surprised,  confounded,  and  dis- 
tracted by  Mr.  Mitchell,  the  collector,  telling  me  that  he 
has  received  an  order  from  your  Board  to  inquire  into  my 
political  conduct,  and  blaming  me  as  a  person  disaffected 
to  Government. 

"  Sir,  you  are  a  husband  and  a  father.  You  know  what 
you  would  feel  to  see  the  much-loved  wife  of  your  bosom, 
and  your  helpless,  prattling  little  ones  turned  adrift  into 
the  world,  degraded  and  disgraced  from  a  situation  in 
which  they  had  been  respectable  and  respected,  and  left 
almost  without  the  necessary  support  of  a  miserable  ex- 
istence. 

"  Alas !  sir,  must  I  think  that  such  soon  will  be  my  lot ! 
and  from  the  dark  insinuations  of  hellish,  groundless 
envy,  too !  I  believe,  sir,  I  may  aver  it,  and  in  the  sight 
of  Omniscience,  that  I  would  not  tell  a  deliberate  false- 
hood, no,  not  though  even  worse  horrors,  if  worse  can  be, 
than  those  I  have  mentioned,  hung  over  my  head ;  and  I 


vi.]  MIGRATION  TO  DUMFRIES.  147 

say,  that  the  allegation,  whatever  villain  has  made  it,  is  a 
lie !  To  the  British  Constitution,  on  revolution  principles, 
next  after  my  God,  I  am  most  devoutly  attached.  You, 
sir,  have  heen  much  and  generously  my  friend. — Heaven 
knows  how  warmly  I  have  felt  the  obligation,  and  how 
gratefully  I  have  thanked  you.  Fortune,  sir,  has  made  you 
powerful,  and  me  impotent  —  has  given  you  patronage, 
and  me  dependence.  I  would  not,  for  my  single  self,  call 
on  your  humanity ;  were  such  my  insular,  unconnected 
situation,  I  would  despise  the  tear  that  now  swells  in  my 
eye.  I  would  brave  misfortune — I  could  face  ruin,  for  at 
the  worst  Death's  thousand  doors  stand  open ;  but — the 
tender  concerns  that  I  have  mentioned,  the  claims  and 
ties  that  I  see  at  this  moment,  and  feel  around  me,  how 
they  unnerve  courage  and  wither  resolution !  To  your 
patronage,  as  a  man  of  some  genius,  you  have  allowed  me 
a  claim ;  and  your  esteem,  as  an  honest  man,  I  know  is 
my  due.  To  these,  sir,  permit  me  to  appeal ;  by  these 
may  I  adjure  you  to  save  me  from  that  misery  which 
threatens  to  overwhelm  me,  and  which  —  with  my  latest 
breath  I  will  say  it — I  have  not  deserved.  R.  B." 

That  this  appeal  was  not  without  effect  may  be  gathered 
from  a  letter  on  this  same  affair,  which  Burns  addressed 
on  the  13th  April,  1793,  to  Mr.  Erskine,  of  Mar,  in  which 
he  says  one  of  the  supervisors-general,  a  Mr.  Corbet,  "  was 
instructed  to  inquire  on  the  spot,  and  to  document  me  that 
my  business  was  to  act,  not  to  think :  and  that,  whatever 
might  be  men  or  measures,  it  was  for  me  to  be  silent  and 
obedient." 

Much  obloquy  has  been  heaped  upon  the  Excise  Board 
— but  on  what  grounds  of  justice  I  have  never  been  able 
to  discover — for  the  way  in  which  they  on  this  occasion 


148  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

dealt  with  Burns.  The  members  of  the  Board  were  the 
servants  of  the  Government,  to  which  they  were  responsi- 
ble for  the  conduct  of  all  their  subordinates.  To  have  al- 
lowed any  of  their  subordinates  to  set  themselves  up  by 
word  or  deed  in  opposition  to  the  Ministry,  and  especially 
at  such  a  crisis,  was  inconsistent  with  the  ideas  of  the  time 
as  to  official  duty.  And  when  called  on  to  act,  it  is  hard 
to  see  how  they  could  have  done  so  with  more  leniency 
than  by  hinting  to  him  the  remonstrance  which  so  alarmed 
and  irritated  the  recipient  of  it.  Whatever  may  be  said 
of  his  alarm,  his  irritation,  if  perhaps  natural,  was  not  rea- 
sonable. No  man  has  a  right  to  expect  that,  because  he 
is  a  genius,  he  shall  be  absolved  from  those  rules  of  con- 
duct, either  in  private  or  in  public  life,  which  are  held 
binding  on  his  more  commonplace  brethren.  About  the 
time  when  he  received  this  rebuke,  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Dun- 
lop,  "  I  have  set,  henceforth,  a  seal  on  my  lips  as  to  these 
unlucky  politics."  But  neither  his  own  resolve  nor  the 
remonstrance  of  the  Excise  Board  seem  to  have  weighed 
much  with  him.  He  continued  at  convivial  parties  to  ex- 
press his  feelings  freely ;  and  at  one  of  these,  shortly  after 
he  had  been  rebuked  by  the  Excise  Board,  when  the  health 
of  William  Pitt  was  drunk,  he  followed  it  by  craving  a 
bumper  "  to  the  health  of  a  much  better  man — General 
Washington."  And  on  a  subsequent  occasion,  as  we  shall 
see,  he  brought  himself  into  trouble  by  giving  an  inju- 
dicious toast.  The  repression  brought  to  bear  on  Burns 
cannot  have  been  very  stringent  when  he  was  still  free  to 
sport  such  sentiments.  The  worst  effect  of  the  remon- 
strance he  received  seems  to  have  been  to  irritate  his  tem- 
per, and  to  depress  his  spirits  by  the  conviction,  unfounded 
though  it  was,  that  all  hope  of  promotion  for  him  was 
over. 


vi.]  MIGRATION  TO  DUMFRIES.  149 

But  amid  all  the  troubles  entailed  on  him  by  his  con- 
duct, domestic,  social,  and  political,  the  chief  refuge  and 
solace  which  he  found  was  in  exercising  his  gifts  of  song. 
All  hope  of  his  ever  achieving  a  great  poem,  which  called 
for  sustained  effort,  was  now  over.  Even  poems  descrip- 
tive of  rustic  life  and  characters,  such  as  he  had  sketched 
in  his  Ayrshire  days  —  for  these  he  had  now  no  longer 
either  time  or  inclination.  His  busy  and  distracted  life, 
however,  left  him  leisure  from  time  to  time  to  give  vent 
to  his  impulses,  or  to  soothe  his  feelings  by  short  arrow- 
flights  of  song.  He  found  in  his  own  experience  the  truth 
of  those  words  of  another  poet — 

"  They  can  make  who  fail  to  find 
Short  leisure  even  in  busiest  days, 
Moments  to  east  a  look  behind, 
And  profit  by  those  kindly  rays 
Which  through  the  clouds  will  sometimes  steal, 
And  all  the  far-off  past  reveal." 

Such  breaks  in  the  clouds  he  eagerly  waited  for,  and 
turned  every  golden  gleam  to  song. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  while  Burns  was  in  Edin- 
burgh he  became  acquainted  with  James  Johnson,  who 
was  engaged  in  collecting  the  songs  of  Scotland  in  a  work 
called  the  Musical  Museum.  He  had  at  once  thrown  him- 
self ardently  into  Johnson's  undertaking,  and  put  all  his 
power  of  traditional  knowledge,  of  criticism,  and  of  orig- 
inal composition  at  Johnson's  disposal.  This  he  continued 
to  do  through  all  the  Ellisland  period,  and  more  or  less 
during  his  residence  in  Dumfries.  To  the  Museum  Burns 
from  first  to  last  gratuitously  contributed  not  less  than 
one  hundred  and  eighty -four  songs,  original,  altered,  or 
collected. 

During  the  first  year  that  Burns  lived  in  Dumfries,  in 


150  ROBERT  BURN'S.  [chap. 

September,  1792,  he  received  an  invitation  from  Mr.  George 
Thomson  to  lend  the  aid  of  his  lyrical  genius  to  a  collec- 
tion of  Scottish  melodies,  airs,  and  words,  which  a  small 
band  of  musical  amateurs  in  Edinburgh  were  then  project- 
ing. This  collection  was  pitched  to  a  higher  key  than  the 
comparatively  humble  Museum.  It  was  to  be  edited  with 
more  rigid  care,  the  symphonies  and  accompaniments  were 
to  be  supplied  by  the  first  musicians  of  Europe,  and  it  was 
to  be  expurgated  from  all  leaven  of  coarseness,  and  from 
whatever  could  offend  the  purest  taste.  To  Thomson's 
proposal  Burns  at  once  replied,  "  As  the  request  you  make 
to  me  will  positively  add  to  my  enjoyment  in  complying 
with  it,  I  shall  enter  into  your  undertaking  with  all  the 
small  portion  of  abilities  I  have,  strained  to  their  utmost 
exertion  by  the  impulse  of  enthusiasm.  .  .  . 

"  If  you  are  for  English  verses,  there  is,  on  my  part,  an 
end  of  the  matter.  Whether  in  the  simplicity  of  the  bal- 
lad, or  the  pathos  of  the  song,  I  can  only  hope  to  please 
myself  in  being  allowed  at  least  a  sprinkling  of  our  native 
tongue.  ...  As  to  remuneration,  you  may  think  my  songs 
either  above  or  below  price  ;  for  they  shall  be  absolutely 
the  one  or  the  other.  In  the  honest  enthusiasm  with  which 
I  embark  in  your  undertaking,  to  talk  of  money,  wages,  fee, 
hire,  &c,  would  be  downright  prostitution  of  soul." 

In  this  spirit  he  entered  on  the  enterprise  which  Thom- 
son opened  before  him,  and  in  this  spirit  he  worked  at  it 
to  the  last,  pouring  forth  song  after  song  almost  to  his 
latest  breath.  Hardly  less  interesting  than  the  songs  them- 
selves, which  from  time  to  time  he  sent  to  Thomson,  were 
the  letters  with  which  he  accompanied  them.  In  these  his 
judgment  and  critical  power  are  as  conspicuous  as  his  gen- 
ius and  his  enthusiasm  for  the  native  melodies.  For  all 
who  take  interest  in  songs  and  in  the  laws  which  govern 


vi.]  MIGRATION  TO  DUMFRIES.  151 

their  movement,  I  know  not  where  else  they  would  find 
hints  so  valuable  as  in  these  occasional  remarks  on  his  own 
and  others'  songs,  by  the  greatest  lyric  singer  whom  tho 
modern  world  has  seen. 

The  bard  who  furnished  the  English  songs  for  this  col- 
lection was  a  certain  Dr.  Wolcot,  known  as  Peter  Pindar. 
This  poetizer,  who  seems  to  have  been  wholly  devoid  of 
genius,  but  to  have  possessed  a  certain  talent  for  hitting 
the  taste  of  the  hour,  was  then  held  in  high  esteem ;  he 
has  long  since  been  forgotten.  Even  Burns  speaks  of  him 
with  much  respect.  "  The  very  name  of  Peter  Pindar  is 
an  acquisition  to  your  work,"  he  writes  to  Thomson.  Well 
might  Chambers  say,  "  It  is  a  humiliating  thought  that  Pe- 
ter Pindar  was  richly  pensioned  by  the  booksellers,  while 
Burns,  the  true  sweet  singer,  lived  in  comparative  pover- 
ty." Hard  measure  has  been  dealt  to  Thomson  for  not  hav- 
ing liberally  remunerated  Burns  for  the  priceless  treasures 
which  he  supplied  to  the  Collection.  Chambers  and  oth- 
ers, who  have  thoroughly  examined  the  whole  matter,  have 
shown  this  censure  to  be  undeserved.  Thomson  himself 
was  by  no  means  rich,  and  his  work  brought  him  nothing 
but  outlay  as  long  as  Burns  lived.  Indeed  once,  in  July, 
1793,  when  Thomson  had  sent  Burns  some  money  in  re- 
turn for  his  songs,  the  bard  thus  replied : 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  truly  hurt  me  with 
your  pecuniary  parcel.  It  degrades  me  in  my  own  eyes. 
However,  to  return  it  would  savour  of  affectation ;  but, 
as  to  any  more  traffic  of  that  debtor  and  creditor  kind,  I 
swear,  by  that  honour  which  crowns  the  upright  statue 
of  Robert  Burns' s  Integrity,  on  the  least  motion  of  it,  I 
will  indignantly  spurn  the  by-pact  transaction,  and  from 
that  moment  commence  entire  stranger  to  you.  Burns's 
character  for  generosity  of  sentiment  and  independence  of 


152  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap  ti. 

mind  will,  I  trust,  long  outlive  any  of  his  wants  which  the 
cold,  unfeeling  ore  can  supply ;  at  least  I  will  take  care 
that  such  a  character  he  shall  deserve." 

This  sentiment  was  no  doubt  inconsistent,  and  may  be 
deemed  Quixotic,  when  we  remember  that  for  his  poems 
Burns  was  quite  willing  to  accept  all  that  Creech  would 
offer.  Yet  one  cannot  but  honour  it.  He  felt  that  both 
Johnson  and  Thomson  were  enthusiasts,  labouring  to  em- 
balm in  a  permanent  form  their  country's  minstrelsy,  and 
that  they  were  doing  this  without  any  hope  of  profit.  He 
too  would  bear  his  part  in  the  noble  work ;  if  he  had  not 
in  other  respects  done  full  justice, to  his  great  gifts,  in  this 
way  he  would  repay  some  of  the  debt  he  owed  to  his 
country,  by  throwing  into  her  national  melodies  the  whole 
wealth  and  glory  of  his  genius.  And  this  he  would  do, 
"  all  for  love,  and  nothing  for  reward."  And  the  con- 
tinual effort  to  do  this  worthily  was  the  chief  relaxation 
and  delight  of  those  sad  later  years.  When  he  died,  he 
had  contributed  to  Thomson's  work  sixty  songs,  but  of 
these  only  six  had  then  appeared,  as  only  one  half-volume 
of  Thomson's  work  had  then  been  published.  Burns 
had  given  Thomson  the  copyright  of  all  the  sixty  songs ; 
but  as  soon  as  a  posthumous  edition  of  the  poet's  works 
was  proposed,  Thomson  returned  all  the  songs  to  the 
poet's  family,  to  be  included  in  the  forthcoming  edition, 
along  with  the  interesting  letters  which  had  accompanied 
the  songs.  Thomson's  collection  was  not  completed  till 
1841,  when  the  sixth  and  last  volume  of  it  appeared.  It 
is  affecting  to  know  that  Thomson  himself,  who  was  older 
than  Burns  by  two  years,  survived  him  for  more  than  five- 
and-fifty,  and  died  in  February,  1851,  at  the  ripe  old  age 
of  ninety-four. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LAST    YEARS. 

During  those  Dumfries  years  little  is  to  be  done  by  the 
biographer  but  to  trace  the  several  incidents  in  Burns's 
quarrel  with  the  world,  his  growing  exasperation,  and  the 
evil  effects  of  it  on  his  conduct  and  his  fortunes.  It  is  a 
painful  record,  but  since  it  must  be  given,  it  shall  be  with 
as  much  brevity  as  is  consistent  with  truth. 

In  July,  1793,  Burns  made  an  excursion  into  Galloway, 
accompanied  by  a  Mr.  Syme,  who  belonging,  like  himself, 
to  the  Excise,  admired  the  poet,  and  agreed  with  his  poli- 
tics. Syme  has  preserved  a  record  of  this  journey,  and 
the  main  impression  left  by  the  perusal  of  it  is  the  strange 
access  of  ill-temper  which  had  come  over  Burns,  who  kept 
venting  his  spleen  in  epigrams  on  all  whom  he  disliked, 
high  and  low.  They  visited  Kenmure,  where  lived  Mr. 
Gordon,  the  representative  of  the  old  Lords  Kenmure. 
They  passed  thence  over  the  muirs  to  Gatehouse,  in  a 
wild  storm,  during  which  Burns  was  silent,  and  crooning 
to  himself  what,  Syme  says,  was  the  first  thought  of  Scots 
wha  hae.  They  were  engaged  to  go  to  St.  Mary's  Isle, 
the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Selkirk ;  but  Burns  was  in  such  a 
savage  mood  against  all  lords,  that  he  was  with  difficulty 
persuaded  to  go  thither,  though  Lord  Selkirk  was  no  Tory, 
but  a  Whig,  like  himself,  and  the  father  of  his  old  friend, 
Lord  Daer,  by  this  time  deceased,  who  had  first  convinced 


164  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

him  that  a  lord  might  possibly  be  an  honest  and  kind- 
hearted  man.  When  they  were  once  under  the  hospitable 
roof  of  St.  Mary's  Isle,  the  kindness  with  which  they  were 
received  appeased  the  poet's  bitterness.  The  Earl  was  be- 
nign, the  young  ladies  were  beautiful,  and  two  of  them 
sang  Scottish  songs  charmingly.  Urbani,  an  Italian  mu- 
sician who  had  edited  Scotch  music,  was  there,  and  sang 
many  Scottish  melodies,  accompanying  them  with  instru- 
mental music.  Burns  recited  some  of  his  songs  amid  the 
deep  silence  that  is  most  expressive  of  admiration.  The 
evening  passed  very  pleasantly,  and  the  lion  of  the  morn- 
ing had,  ere  the  evening  was  over,  melted  to  a  lamb. 

Scots  wha  hae  has  been  mentioned.  Mr.  Syme  tells  us 
that  it  was  composed  partly  while  Burns  was  riding  in  a 
storm  between  Gatehouse  and  Kenmure,  and  partly  on  the 
second  morning  after  this,  when  they  were  journeying 
from  St.  Mary's  Isle  to  Dumfries.  And  Mr.  Syme  adds 
that  next  day  the  poet  presented  him  with  one  copy  of 
the  poem  for  himself,  and  a  second  for  Mr.  Dalzell.  Mr. 
Carlyle  says,  "  This  Dithyrambic  was  composed  on  horse- 
back ;  in  riding  in  the  middle  of  tempests  over  the  wild- 
est Galloway  moor,  in  company  with  a  Mr.  Syme,  who, 
observing  the  poet's  looks,  forbore  to  speak — judiciously 
enough — for  a  man  composing  Bruce's  address  might  be 
unsafe  to  trifle  with.  Doubtless  this  stern  hymn  was 
singing  itself,  as  he  formed  it,  through  the  soul  of  Burns, 
but  to  the  external  ear  it  should  be  sung  with  the  throat 
of  the  whirlwind." 

Burns,  however,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Thomson,  dated  Sep- 
tember, 1793,  gives  an  account  of  the  composition  of  his 
war-ode,  which  is  difficult  to  reconcile  with  Mr.  Syme's 
statement.  *  There  is  a  tradition  which  I  have  met  with 
in  many  places  in  Scotland,"  he  writes,  "  that  the  old  air, 


vil]  LAST  YEAES.  155 

Hey,  tuttie  taitie,  was  Robert  Bruce's  march  at  the  battle 
of  Bannockburn.  This  thought,  in  my  yesternight's  even- 
ing walk,  warmed  me  to  a  pitch  of  enthusiasm  on  the 
theme  of  liberty  and  independence,  which  I  threw  into  a 
kind  of  Scottish  ode,  fitted  to  the  air,  that  one  might  sup- 
pose to  be  the  gallant  royal  Scot's  address  to  his  heroic 
followers  on  that  eventful  morning."  He  adds  that  "  the 
accidental  recollection  of  that  glorious  struggle  for  free- 
dom, associated  with  the  glowing  ideas  of  some  struggles 
of  the  same  nature,  not  quite  so  ancient,  roused  my  rhym- 
ing mania."  So  Bruce's  Address  owes  its  inspiration  as 
much  to  Burns's  sympathy  with  the  French  Republicans 
as  to  his  Scottish  patriotism.  As  to  the  intrinsic  merit  of 
the  ode  itself,  Mr.  Carlyle  says,  "  So  long  as  there  is  warm 
blood  in  the  heart  of  Scotchmen  or  man,  it  will  move  in 
fierce  thrills  under  this  war-ode,  the  best,  we  believe,  that 
was  ever  written  by  any  pen."  To  this  verdict  every  son 
of  Scottish  soil  is,  I  suppose,  bound  to  say  Amen.  It  ought 
not,  however,  to  be  concealed  that  there  has  been  a  very 
different  estimate  formed  of  it  by  judges  sufficiently  compe- 
tent. I  remember  to  have  read  somewhere  of  a  conversa- 
tion between  Wordsworth  and  Mrs.  Hemans,  in  which  they 
both  agreed  that  the  famous  ode  was  not  much  more  than 
a  commonplace  piece  of  school -boy  rhodomontade  about 
liberty.  Probably  it  does  owe  not  a  little  of  its  power  to 
the  music  to  which  it  is  sung,  and  to  the  associations 
which  have  gathered  round  it.  The  enthusiasm  for  French 
Revolution  sentiments,  which  may  have  been  in  Bums's 
mind  when  composing  it,  has  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
delight  with  which  thousands  since  have  sung  and  listened 
to  it.  The  poet,  however,  when  he  first  conceived  it,  was 
no  doubt  raging  inwardly,  like  a  lion,  not  only  caged,  but 
muzzled  with  the  gag  of   his  servitude  to  Government 


156  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

But  for  this,  what  diatribes  in  favour  of  the  Revolution 
might  we  not  have  had,  and  what  pain  must  it  have  been 
to  Burns  to  suppress  these  under  the  coercion  of  exter- 
nal authority !  Partly  to  this  feeling,  as  well  as  to  other 
causes,  may  be  ascribed  such  outbursts  as  the  following, 
written  to  a  female  correspondent,  immediately  after  his 
return  from  the  Galloway  tour : 

"There  is  not  among  all  the  martyrologies  that  ever 
were  penned,  so  rueful  a  narrative  as  the  lives  of  the 
poets.  In  the  comparative  view  of  wretches,  the  criterion 
is  not  what  they  are  doomed  to  suffer,  but  how  they  are 
formed  to  bear.  Take  a  being  of  our  kind,  give  him  a 
stronger  imagination,  and  a  more  delicate  sensibility,  which 
between  them  will  ever  engender  a  more  ungovernable  set 
of  passions  than  are  the  usual  lot  of  man ;  implant  in  him 
an  irresistible  impulse  to  some  idle  vagary,  ...  in  short, 
send  him  adrift  after  some  pursuit  which  shall  eternally 
mislead  him  from  the  paths  of  lucre,  and  yet  curse  him 
with  a  keener  relish  than  any  man  living  for  the  pleasures 
that  lucre  can  purchase ;  lastly,  fill  up  the  measure  of  his 
woes  by  bestowing  on  him  a  spurning  sense  of  his  own 
dignity — and  you  have  created  a  wight  nearly  as  misera- 
ble as  a  poet."  This  passage  will  recall  to  many  the  cata- 
logue of  sore  evils  to  which  poets  are  by  their  tempera- 
ment exposed,  which  Wordsworth   in  his  Leech-gatherer 

enumerates. 

"The  fear  that  kills, 

And  hope  that  is  unwilling  to  be  fed ; 

Cold,  pain,  and  labour,  and  all  fleshly  ills ; 

And  mighty  poets  in  their  misery  dead." 

In  writing  that  poem  Wordsworth  had  Burns  among 
others  prominently  in  his  eye.  What  a  commentary  is 
the  life  of  the  more  impulsive  poet  on  the  lines  of  his 


vn.]  LAST  YEARS.  157 

younger  and  more  self-controlling  brother !  During  those 
years  of  political  unrest  and  of  growing  mental  disquiet, 
his  chief  solace  was,  as  I  have  said,  to  compose  songs  for 
Thomson's  Collection,  into  which  he  poured  a  continual 
supply.  Indeed  it  is  wonderful  how  often  he  was  able  to 
escape  from  his  own  vexations  into  that  aerener  atmosphere, 
and  there  to  suit  melodies  and  moods  most  alien  to  his 
own  with  fitting  words. 

Here  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Thomson  is  the  way  he  de- 
scribes himself  in  the  act  of  composition.  "  My  way  is — 
I  consider  the  poetic  sentiment  correspondent  to  my  idea 
of  the  musical  expression ;  then  choose  my  theme ;  begin 
one  stanza ;  when  that  is  composed,  which  is  generally  the 
most  difficult  part  of  the  business,  I  walk  out,  sit  down 
now  and  then,  look  out  for  objects  in  nature  around  me 
that  are  in  unison  and  harmony  with  the  cogitations  of 
my  fancy  and  workings  of  my  bosom ;  humming  every 
now  and  then  the  air  with  the  verses  I  have  framed. 
When  I  feel  my  Muse  beginning  to  jade,  I  retire  to  the 
solitary  fireside  of  my  study,  and  there  commit  my  effu- 
sions to  paper;  swinging  at  intervals  on  the  hind  legs  of 
my  elbow-chair,  by  way  of  calling  forth  my  own  critical 
strictures  as  my  pen  goes  on."  To  this  may  be  added 
what  Allan  Cunningham  tells  us.  "While  he  lived  in 
Dumfries  he  had  three  favourite  walks  —  on  the  Dock- 
green  by  the  river-side;  among  the  ruins  of  Lincluden 
College;  and  towards  the  Martingdon-ford,  on  the  north 
side  of  the  Nith.  This  latter  place  was  secluded,  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  distant  hills  and  the  romantic  tow- 
ers of  Lincluden,  and  afforded  soft  greensward  banks  to 
rest  upon,  within  sight  and  sound  of  the  stream.  As  soon 
as  he  was  heard  to  hum  to  himself,  his  wife  saw  that  he 
had  something  in  his  mind,  and  was  prepared  to  see  him 


158  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

snatch  up  his  hat,  and  set  silently  off  for  his  musing- 
ground.  When  by  himself,  and  in  the  open  air,  his  ideas 
arranged  themselves  in  their  natural  order  —  words  came 
at  will,  and  he  seldom  returned  without  having  finished  a 
song.  .  .  .  When  the  verses  were  finished,  he  passed  them 
through  the  ordeal  of  Mrs.  Burns's  voice,  listened  atten- 
tively when  she  sang ;  asked  her  if  any  of  the  words  were 
difficult ;  and  when  one  happened  to  be  too  rough,  he  read- 
ily found  a  smoother;  but  he  never,  save  at  the  resolute 
entreaty  of  a  scientific  musician,  sacrificed  sense  to  sound. 
The  autumn  was  his  favourite  season,  and  the  twilight  his 
favourite  hour  of  study." 

Regret  has  often  been  expressed  that  Burns  spent  so 
much  time  and  thought  on  writing  his  songs,  and,  in  this 
way,  diverted  his  energies  from-  higher  aims.  Sir  Walter 
has  said,  "  Notwithstanding  the  spirit  of  many  of  his  lyrics, 
and  the  exquisite  sweetness  and  simplicity  of  others,  we 
cannot  but  deeply  regret  that  so  much  of  his  time  and 
talents  was  frittered  away  in  compiling  and  composing  for 
musical  collections.  There  is  sufficient  evidence  that  even 
the  genius  of  Burns  could  not  support  him  in  the  monot- 
onous task  of  writing  love-verses,  on  heaving  bosoms  and 
sparkling  eyes,  and  twisting  them  into  such  rhythmical 
forms  as  might  suit  the  capricious  evolutions  of  Scotch 
reels  and  strathspeys."  Even  if  Burns,  instead  of  continual 
song-writing  during  the  last  eight  years  of  his  life,  had 
concentrated  his  strength  on  "  his  grand  plan  of  a  dramat- 
ic composition  "  on  the  subject  of  Bruce's  adventures,  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  he  would  have  done  so  much  to 
enrich  his  country's  literature  as  he  has  done  by  the  songs 
he  composed.  But  considering  how  desultory  his  habits 
became,  if  Johnson  and  Thomson  had  not,  as  it  were,  set 
turn  a  congenial  task,  he  might  not  have  produced  any- 


vii.]  LAST  YEARS.  159 

thing  at  all  during  those  years.  There  is,  however,  anoth- 
er aspect  in  which  the  continual  composition  of  love-ditties 
must  be  regretted.  The  few  genuine  love-songs,  straight 
from  the  heart,  which  he  composed,  such  as  Of  cC  the 
Airts,  To  Mary  in  Heaven,  Ye  Batiks  and  Braes,  can  hard- 
ly be  too  highly  prized.  But  there  are  many  others, 
which  arose  from  a  lower  and  fictitious  source  of  inspira- 
tion. He  himself  tells  Thomson  that  when  he  wished  to 
compose  a  love-song,  his  recipe  was  to  put  himself  on  a 
"regimen  of  admiring  a  beautiful  woman."  This  was  a 
dangerous  regimen,  and  when  it  came  to  be  often  repeated, 
as  it  was,  it  cannot  have  tended  to  his  peace  of  heart,  or  to 
the  purity  of  his  life. 

The  first  half  of  the  year  1794  was  a  more  than  usually 
unhappy  time  with  Burns.  It  was  almost  entirely  song- 
less.  Instead  of  poetry,  we  hear  of  political  dissatisfaction, 
excessive  drinking-bouts,  quarrels,  and  self-reproach.  This 
was  the  time  when  our  country  was  at  war  with  the 
French  Republic — a  war  which  Burns  bitterly  disliked,  but 
his  employment  under  Government  forced  him  to  set  "  a 
seal  on  his  lips  as  to  those  unlucky  politics."  A  regiment 
of  soldiers  was  quartered  in  the  town  of  Dumfries,  and  to 
Burns's  eye  the  sight  of  their  red  coats  was  so  offensive, 
that  he  would  not  go  down  the  plainstones  lest  he  should 
meet  "  the  epauletted  puppies,"  who  thronged  the  street. 
One  of  these  epauletted  puppies,  whom  he  so  disliked, 
found  occasion  to  pull  Burns  up  rather  smartly.  The 
poet,  when  in  his  cups,  had  in  the  hearing  of  a  certain  cap- 
tain proposed  as  a  toast, "  May  our  success  in  the  present 
war  be  equal  to  the  justice  of  our  cause."  The  soldier 
called  him  to  account  —  a  duel  seemed  imminent,  and 
Burns  had  next  day  to  write  an  apologetic  letter,  in  order 

to  avoid  the  risk  of  ruin.     About  the  same  time  he  was 
36 


160  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

involved,  through  intemperance,  in  another  and  more  pain- 
ful quarrel.  It  has  been  already  noticed  that  at  Wood- 
ley  Park  he  was  a  continual  guest.  With  Mrs.  Riddel, 
who  was  both  beautiful  and  witty,  he  carried  on  a  kind  of 
poetic  flirtation.  Mr.  Walter  Riddel,  the  host,  was  wont 
to  press  his  guests  to  deeper  potations  than  were  usual 
even  in  those  hard-drinking  days.  One  evening,  when  the 
guests  had  sat  till  they  were  inflamed  with  wine,  they  en- 
tered the  drawing-room,  and  Burns  in  some  way  grossly 
insulted  the  fair  hostess.  Next  day  he  wrote  a  letter  of 
the  most  abject  and  extravagant  penitence.  This,  how- 
ever, Mr.  and  Mrs.  Riddel  did  not  think  fit  to  accept. 
Stung  by  this  rebuff,  Burns  recoiled  at  once  to  the  oppo- 
site extreme  of  feeling,  and  penned  a  grossly  scurrilous 
monody  on  "  a  lady  famed  for  her  caprice."  This  he  fol- 
lowed up  by  other  lampoons,  full  of  "  coarse  rancour 
against  a  lady  who  had  showed  him  many  kindnesses." 
The  Laird  of  Friars  Carse  and  his  lady  naturally  sided 
with  their  relatives,  and  grew  cold  to  their  old  friend  of 
Ellisland.  While  this  coldness  lasted,  Mr.  Riddel,  of  Friars 
Carse,  died  in  the  spring-time,  and  the  poet,  remembering 
his  friend's  worth  and  former  kindness,  wrote  a  sonnet 
over  him — not  one  of  his  best  or  most  natural  perform- 
ances, yet  showing  the  return  of  his  better  heart.  During 
the  same  spring  we  hear  of  Burns  going  to  the  house  of 
one  of  the  neighbouring  gentry,  and  dining  there,  not  with 
the  rest  of  the  party,  but,  by  his  own  choice,  it  would 
seem,  with  the  housekeeper  in  her  room,  and  joining  the 
gentlemen  in  the  dining-room  after  the  ladies  had  retired. 
He  was  now,  it  seems,  more  disliked  by  ladies  than  by 
men  —  a  change  since  those  Edinburgh  days,  when  the 
highest  dames  of  the  land  had  spoken  so  rapturously  of 
the  charm  of  his  conversation. 


vii.]  LAST  YEARS.  161 

Amid  the  gloom  of  this  unhappy  time  (1791),  Burns 
turned  to  his  old  Edinburgh  friend,  Alexander  Cunning- 
ham, and  poured  forth  this  passionate  and  well-known 
complaint : — "  Canst  thou  minister  to  a  mind  diseased  ? 
Canst  thou  speak  peace  and  rest  to  a  soul  tossed  on  a  sea 
of  troubles,  without  one  friendly  star  to  guide  her  course, 
and  dreading  that  the  next  surge  may  overwhelm  her? 
Of  late,  a  number  of  domestic  vexations,  and  some  pecun- 
iary share  in  the  ruin  of  these  cursed  times — losses  which, 
though  trifling,  were  what  I  could  ill  bear  —  have  so  ir- 
ritated me,  that  my  feelings  at  times  could  only  be  envied 
by  a  reprobate  spirit  listening  to  the  sentence  that  dooms 
it  to  perdition. — Are  you  deep  in  the  language  of  consola- 
tion ?  I  have  exhausted  in  reflection  every  topic  of  com- 
fort. A  heart  at  ease  would  have  been  charmed  with  my 
sentiments  and  reasonings;  but  as  to  myself,  I  was  like 
Judas  Iscariot  preaching  the  Gospel.  .  .  .  Still  there  are 
two  great  pillars  that  bear  us  up  amid  the  wreck  of  mis- 
fortune and  misery.  The  one  is  composed  of  a  certain 
noble,  stubborn  something  in  man,  known  by  the  names 
of  Courage,  Fortitude,  Magnanimity.  The  other  is  made 
up  of  those  feelings  and  sentiments  which,  however  the 
sceptic  may  deny  them,  or  the  enthusiast  may  disfigure 
them,  are  yet,  I  am  convinced,  original  and  component 
parts  of  the  human  soul,  those  senses  of  the  mind — if  I 
may  be  allowed  the  expression — which  connect  us  with 
and  link  us  to  those  awful  obscure  realities — an  all-power- 
ful and  equally  beneficent  God,  and  a  world  to  come,  be- 
yond death  and  the  grave.  The  first  gives  the  nerve  of 
combat,  while  a  ray  of  hope  beams  on  the  field :  the  last 
pours  the  balm  of  comfort  into  the  wounds  which  time 
can  never  cure." 

This  remarkable,  or,  as  Lockhart  calls  it,  noble  letter, 

8 


162  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

was  written  on  February  25,  1794.  It  was  probably  a  few 
months  later,  perhaps  in  May  of  the  same  year,  while 
Burns  was  still  under  this  depression,  that  there  occurred 
an  affecting  incident,  which  has  been  preserved  by  Lock- 
hart.  Mr.  David  McCulloch,  of  Ardwell,  told  Lockhart, 
"  that  he  was  seldom  more  grieved  than  wnen,  riding  into 
Dumfries  one  fine  summer's  evening,  to  attend  a  country 
ball,  he  saw  Burns  walking  alone,  on  the  shady  side  of  the 
principal  street  of  the  town,  while  the  opposite  part  was 
gay  with  successive  groups  of  gentlemen  and  ladies,  all 
drawn  together  for  the  festivities  of  the  night,  not  one  of 
whom  seemed  willing  to  recognize  the  poet.  The  horse- 
man dismounted  and  joined  Burns,  who,  on  his  propos- 
ing to  him  to  cross  the  street,  said,  '  Nay,  nay,  my  young 
friend,  that's  all  over  now  ;'  and  quoted,  after  a  pause,  some 
verses  of  Lady  Grizzell  Baillie's  pathetic  ballad : 

'"His  bonnet  stood  ance fu'  fair  on  his  brow, 

His  auld  ane  looked  better  than  rnony  ane's  new ; 
But  now  he  lets  't  wear  ony  way  it  will  hing, 
And  casts  hirnsell  dowie  upon  the  corn-bing. 

" '  0,  were  we  young,  as  we  ance  hae  been, 

We  suld  hae  been  galloping  down  on  yon  green, 
And  linking  it  owre  the  lily-white  lea — 
And  werena  my  heart  light,  I  wad  die.'  " 

"  It  was  little  in  Burns's  character  to  let  his  feelings  on 
certain  subjects  escape  in  this  fashion.  He  immediately 
after  citing  these  verses  assumed  the  sprightliness  of  his 
most  pleasing  manner ;  and  taking  his  young  friend  home 
with  him,  entertained  him  very  agreeably  until  the  hour 
of  the  ball  arrived,  with  a  bowl  of  his  usual  potation,  and 
Bonnie  Jean's  singing  of  some  verses  which  he  had  recent- 
ly composed." 


vii.]  LAST  YEARS.  163 

In  June  we  find  him  expressing  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  the 
earliest  hint  that  he  felt  his  health  declining.  "I  am 
afraid,1'  he  says,  "  that  I  am  about  to  suffer  for  the  follies 
of  my  youth.  My  medical  friends  threaten  me  with  fly- 
ing gout ;  but  I  trust  they  are  mistaken."  And  again,  a 
few  months  later,  we  find  him,  when  writing  to  the  same 
friend,  recurring  to  the  same  apprehensions.  Vexation 
and  disappointment  within,  and  excesses,  if  not  continual, 
yet  too  frequent,  from  without,  had  for  long  been  under- 
mining his  naturally  strong  but  nervously  sensitive  frame, 
and  those  symptoms  were  now  making  themselves  felt, 
which  were  soon  to  lay  him  in  an  early  grave.  As  the 
autumn  drew  on,  his  singing  powers  revived,  and  till  the 
close  of  the  year  he  kept  pouring  into  Thomson  a  stream 
of  songs,  some  of  the  highest  stamp,  and  hardly  one  with- 
out a  touch  such  as  only  the  genuine  singer  can  give. 

The  letters,  too,  to  Thomson,  with  which  he  accompanies 
his  gifts,  are  full  of  suggestive  thoughts  on  song,  hints 
most  precious  to  all  who  care  for  such  matters.  For  the 
forgotten  singers  of  his  native  land  he  is  full  of  sympathy. 
"  By  the  way,"  he  writes  to  Thomson,  "  are  you  not  vexed 
to  think  that  those  men  of  genius,  for  such  they  certainly 
were,  who  composed  our  fine  Scottish  lyrics,  should  be  un- 
known?" 

Many  of  the  songs  of  that  autumn  were,  as  usual,  love- 
ditties;  but  when  the  poet  could  forget  the  lint-white 
locks  of  Chloris,  of  which  kind  of  stuff  there  is  more  than 
enough,  he  would  write  as  good  songs  on  other  and  manlier 
subjects.  Two  of  these,  written,  the  one  in  November, 
1794,  the  other  in  January,  1795,  belong  to  the  latter  or- 
der, and  are  worthy  of  careful  regard,  not  only  for  their 
excellence  as  songs,  but  also  as  illustrations  of  the  poet's 
mood  of  mind  at  the  time  when  he  composed  them. 


164  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

The  first  is  this — 

"  Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  inair, 
Whene'er  I  forgather  wi'  sorrow  and  care, 
I  gie  them  a  skelp  as  they're  creepin'  alang, 
Wi'  a  cog  o'  gude  swats,  and  an  auld  Scottish  sang. 

'  I  whyles  claw  the  elbow  o'  troublesome  thought ; 
But  man  is  a  soger,  and  life  is  a  faught : 
My  mirth  and  gude  humour  are  coin  in  my  pouch, 
And  my  Freedom's  my  lairdship  nae  monarch  dare  touch. 

"  A  towmond  o'  trouble,  should  that  be  my  fa', 
A  night  o'  gude  fellowship  sowthers  it  a' ; 
When  at  the  blythe  end  o'  our  journey  at  last, 
Wha  the  deil  ever  thinks  o'  the  road  he  has  past  ? 

"  Blind  Chance,  let  her  snapper  and  stoyte  on  her  way ; 
Be't  to  me,  be't  frae  me,  e'en  let  the  jade  gae  : 
Come  Ease,  or  come  Travail,  come  Pleasure  or  Pain, 
My  warst  word  is — Welcome,  and  welcome  again." 

This  song  gives  Burns's  idea  of  himself,  and  of  his  strug- 
gle with  the  world,  when  he  could  look  on  both  from  the 
placid,  rather  than  the  despondent  side.  He  regarded  it 
as  a  true  picture  of  himself ;  for,  when  a  good  miniature 
of  him  had  been  done,  he  wrote  to  Thomson  that  he  wish- 
ed a  vignette  from  it  to  be  prefixed  to  this  song,  that,  in 
his  own  words,  "  the  portrait  of  my  face  and  the  picture 
of  my  mind  may  go  down  the  stream  of  time  together." 
Burns  had  more  moods  of  mind  than  most  men,  and  this 
was,  we  may  hope,  no  unfrequent  one  with  him.  But  if 
we  would  reach  the  truth,  we  probably  ought  to  strike  a 
balance  between  the  spirit  of  this  song  and  the  dark  moods 
depicted  in  some  of  those  letters  already  quoted. 

The  other  song  of  the  same  time  is  the  well-known  A 
Man's  a  Man  for  a'  that.     This  powerful  song  speaks  out 


til]  LAST  YEARS.  165 

in  his  best  style  a  sentiment  that  through  all  his  life  had 
been  dear  to  the  heart  of  Burns.  It  has  been  quoted,  they 
say,  by  Beranger  in  France,  and  by  Goethe  in  Germany, 
and  is  the  word  which  springs  up  in  the  mind  of  all  for- 
eigners when  they  think  of  Burns.  It  was  inspired,  no 
doubt,  by  his  keen  sense  of  social  oppression,  quickened 
to  white  heat  by  influences  that  had  lately  come  from 
France,  and  by  what  he  had  suffered  for  his  sympathy 
with  that  cause.  It  has  since  become  the  watchword  of 
all  who  fancy  that  they  have  secured  less,  and  others  more, 
of  this  world's  goods  than  their  respective  merit  deserves. 
Stronger  words  he  never  wrote. 

"  The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that." 

That  is  a  word  for  all  time.  Yet  perhaps  it  might  have 
been  wished  that  so  noble  a  song  had  not  been  marred  by 
any  touch  of  social  bitterness.  A  lord,  no  doubt,  may  be 
a  "  birkie "  and  a  "  coof,"  but  may  not  a  ploughman  be 
so  too  ?  This  great  song  Burns  wrote  on  the  first  day  of 
1795. 

Towards  the  end  of  1794,  and  in  the  opening  of  1795, 
the  panic  which  had  filled  the  land  in  1792,  from  the  do- 
ings of  the  French  republicans,  and  their  sympathizers  in 
this  country,  began  to  abate  ;  and  the  blast  of  Government 
displeasure,  which  for  a  time  had  beaten  heavily  on  Burns, 
seemed  to  have  blown  over.  He  writes  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  on 
the  29th  of  December,  1794,  "  My  political  sins  seem  to  be 
forgiven  me ;"  and  as  a  proof  of  it  he  mentions  that  dur- 
ing the  illness  of  his  superior  officer,  he  had  been  appoint- 
ed to  act  as  supervisor — a  duty  which  he  discharged  for 
about  two  months.  In  the  same  letter  he  sends  to  that 
good  lady  his  usual  kindly  greeting  for  the  coming  year. 


166  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

and  concludes  thus : — "  What  a  transient  business  is  life ! 
Very  lately  I  was  a  boy ;  but  t'  other  day  I  was  a  young 
man ;  and  I  already  begin  to  feel  the  rigid  fibre  and  stiff- 
ening joints  of  old  age  coming  fast  o'er  my  frame.  With 
all  the  follies  of  youth,  and,  I  fear,  a  few  vices  of  man- 
hood, still  I  congratulate  myself  on  having  had,  in  early 
days,  religion  strongly  impressed  on  my  mind."  Burns  al- 
ways keeps  his  most  serious  thoughts  for  this  good  lady. 
Herself  religious,  she  no  doubt  tried  to  keep  the  truths 
of  religion  before  the  poet's  mind.  And  he  naturally  was 
drawn  out  to  reply  in  a  tone  more  unreserved  than  when 
he  wrote  to  most  others. 

In  February  of  the  ensuing  year,  1*795,  his  duties  as  su- 
pervisor led  him  to  what  he  describes  as  the  "  unfortunate, 
wicked  little  village  "  of  Ecclefechan,  in  Annandale.  The 
night  after  he  arrived,  there  fell  the  heaviest  snow-storm 
known  in  Scotland  within  living  memory.  When  people 
awoke  next  morning  they  found  the  snow  up  to  the  win- 
dows of  the  second  story  of  their  houses.  In  the  hollow 
of  Campsie  hills  it  lay  to  the  depth  of  from  eighty  to  a 
hundred  feet,  and  it  had  not  disappeared  from  the  streets 
of  Edinburgh  on  the  king's  birthday,  the  4th  of  June. 
Storm-stayed  at  Ecclefechan,  Burns  indulged  in  deep  po- 
tations and  in  song-writing.  Probably  he  imputed  to  the 
place  that  with  which  his  own  conscience  reproached  him- 
self. Cnrrie,  who  was  a  native  of  Ecclefechan,  much  of- 
fended, says,  "  The  poet  must  have  been  tipsy  indeed  to 
abuse  sweet  Ecclefechan  at  this  rate."  It  was  also  the 
birthplace  of  the  poet's  friend  Nicol,  and  of  a  greater  than 
he.  On  the  4th  of  December  in  the  very  year  on  which 
Burns  visited  it,  Mr.  Thomas  Carlyle  was  born  in  that  vil- 
lage. Shortly  after  his  visit,  the  poet  beat  his  brains  to 
find  a  rhyme  for  Ecclefechan,  and  to  twist  it  into  a  song. 


vii.]  LAST  YEARS.  167 

In  March  of  the  same  year  we  find  him  again  joining  in 
local  politics,  and  writing  electioneering  ballads  for  Heron 
of  Heron,  the  Whig  candidate  for  the  Stewartry  of  Kirk- 
cudbright, against  the  nominee  of  the  Earl  of  Galloway, 
against  whom  and  his  family  Burns  seems  to  have  har- 
boured some  peculiar  enmity. 

Mr.  Heron  won  the  election,  and  Burns  wrote  to  him 
about  his  own  prospects : — "  The  moment  I  am  appointed 
supervisor,  in  the  common  routine  I  may  be  nominated  on 
the  collectors'  list ;  and  this  is  always  a  business  of  pure- 
ly political  patronage.  A  collectorship  varies  much,  from 
better  than  200/.  to  near  1000/.  a  year.  A  life  of  literary 
leisure,  with  a  decent  competency,  is  the  summit  of  my 
wishes." 

The  hope  here  expressed  was  not  destined  to  be  fulfilled. 
It  required  some  years  for  its  realization,  and  the  years  al- 
lotted to  Burns  were  now  nearly  numbered.  The  prospect 
which  he  here  dwells  on  may,  however,  have  helped  to 
lighten  his  mental  gloom  during  the  last  year  of  his  life. 
For  one  year  of  activity  there  certainly  was,  between  the 
time  when  the  cloud  of  political  displeasure  against  him 
disappeared  towards  the  end  of  1794,  and  the  time  when 
his  health  finally  gave  way  in  the  autumn  of  1795,  during 
which,  to  judge  by  his  letters,  he  indulged  much  less  in 
outbursts  of  social  discontent.  One  proof  of  this  is  seen 
in  the  following  fact.  In  the  spring  of  1795,  a  volunteer 
corps  was  raised  in  Dumfries,  to  defend  the  country,  while 
the  regular  army  was  engaged  abroad,  in  war  with  France. 
Many  of  the  Dumfries  Whigs,  and  among  them  Burns's 
friends,  Syme  and  Dr.  Maxwell,  enrolled  themselves  in  the 
corps,  in  order  to  prove  their  loyalty  and  patriotism,  on 
which  some  suspicions  had  previously  been  cast.  Burns 
too  offered  himself,  and  wras  received  into  the  corps.     Al- 


168  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

Ian  Cunningham  remembered  the  appearance  of  the  regi- 
ment, "  their  odd  but  not  ungraceful  dress ;  white  kersey- 
mere breeches  and  waistcoat ;  short  blue  coat,  faced  with 
red ;  and  round  hat,  surmounted  by  a  bearskin,  like  the 
helmets  of  the  Horse  Guards."  He  remembered  the  poet 
too,  as  he  showed  among  them,  "  his  very  swarthy  face,  his 
ploughman  stoop,  his  large  dark  eyes,  and  his  awkward- 
ness in  handling  his  arms."  But  if  he  could  not  handle 
his  musket  deftly,  he  could  do  what  none  else  in  that  or 
any  other  corps  could,  he  could  sing  a  patriotic  stave  which 
thrilled  the  hearts  not  only  of  his  comrades,  but  every 
Briton  from  Land's  End  to  Johnny  Groat's. 
This  is  one  of  the  verses : — 

"  The  kettle  o'  the  kirk  and  state 

Perhaps  a  clout  may  fail  in't ; 
But  deil  a  foreign  tinkler  loun 

Shall  ever  ca'  a  nail  in't. 
Our  fathers'  blude  the  kettle  bought, 

And  wha  wad  dare  to  spoil  it  ? 
By  heavens !  the  sacrilegious  dog 

Shall  fuel  be  to  boil  it ! 
By  heavens !  the  sacrilegious  dog 

Shall  fuel  be  to  boil  it!" 

This  song  flew  throughout  the  land,  hit  the  taste  of  the 
country-people  everywhere,  and  is  said  to  have  done  much 
to  change  the  feelings  of  those  who  were  disaffected. 
Much  blame  has  been  cast  upon  the  Tory  Ministry,  then 
in  power,  for  not  having  offered  a  pension  to  Burns.  It 
was  not,  it  is  said,  that  they  did  not  know  of  him,  or  that 
they  disregarded  his  existence.  For  Mr.  Addington,  after- 
wards Lord  Sidmouth,  we  have  seen,  deeply  felt  his  gen- 
ius, acknowledged  it  in  verse,  and  is  said  to  have  urged  his 
claims  upon  the  Government.     Mr.  Pitt,  soon  after  the  po- 


til]  LAST  YEARS.  169 

et's  death,  is  reported  to  have  said  of  Burns's  poetry,  at 
the  table  of  Lord  Liverpool,  "  I  can  think  of  no  verse  since 
Shakespeare's  that  has  so  much  the  appearance  of  coming 
sweetly  from  nature."  It  is  on  Mr.  Dundas,  however,  at 
that  time  one  of  the  Ministry,  and  the  autocrat  of  all  Scot- 
tish affairs,  that  the  heaviest  weight  of  blame  has  fallen. 
But  perhaps  this  is  not  altogether  deserved.  There  is  the 
greatest  difference  between  a  literary  man,  who  holds  his 
political  opinions  in  private,  but  refrains  from  mingling 
in  party  politics,  and  one  who  zealously  espouses  one  side, 
and  employs  his  literary  power  in  promoting  it.  He 
threw  himself  into  every  electioneering  business  with  his 
whole  heart,  wrote,  while  he  might  have  been  better  em- 
ployed, electioneering  ballads  of  little  merit,  in  which  he 
lauded  Whig  men  and  theories,  and  lampooned,  often  scur- 
rilously,  the  supporters  of  Dundas.  No  doubt  it  would 
have  been  magnanimous  in  the  men  then  in  power  to  have 
overlooked  all  these  things,  and,  condoning  the  politics, 
to  have  rewarded  the  poetry  of  Burns.  And  it  were  to  be 
wished  that  such  magnanimity  were  more  common  among 
public  men.  But  we  do  not  see  it  practised  even  at  the 
present  day,  any  more  than  it  was  in  the  time  of  Burns. 

During  the  first  half  of  1795  the  poet  had  gone  on  with 
his  accustomed  duties,  and,  during  the  intervals  of  busi- 
ness, kept  sending  to  Thomson  the  songs  he  from  time  to 
time  composed. 

His  professional  prospects  seemed  at  this  time  to  be 
brightening,  for  about  the  middle  of  May,  1*795,  his 
staunch  friend,  Mr.  Graham,  of  Fintray,  would  seem  to 
have  revived  an  earlier  project  of  having  him  transferred 
to  a  post  in  Leith,  with  easy  duty  and  an  income  of  nearly 
200/.  a  year.  This  project  could  not  at  the  time  be  car- 
ried out ;  but  that  it  should  have  been  thought  of  proves 

8* 


170  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

that  political  offences  of  the  past  were  beginning  to  be 
forgotten.  During  this  same  year  there  were  symptoms 
that  the  respectable  persons  who  had  for  some  time  frown- 
ed on  him  were  willing  to  relent.  A  combination  of  causes, 
his  politics,  the  Riddel  quarrel,  and  his  own  many  impru- 
dences, had  kept  him  under  a  cloud.  And  this  disfavour 
of  the  well-to-do  had  not  increased  his  self-respect  or  made 
him  more  careful  about  the  company  he  kept.  Disgust 
with  the  world  had  made  him  reckless  and  defiant.  But 
with  the  opening  of  1 795,  the  Riddels  were  reconciled  to 
him,  and  received  him  once  more  into  their  good  graces ; 
and  others,  their  friends,  probably  followed  their  example. 
But  the  time  was  drawing  near  when  the  smiles  or  the 
frowns  of  the  Dumfries  magnates  would  be  alike  indiffer- 
ent to  him.  There  has  been  more  than  enough  of  discus- 
sion among  the  biographers  of  Burns  as  to  how  far  he 
really  deteriorated  in  himself  during  those  Dumfries  years, 
as  to  the  extent  and  the  causes  of  the  social  discredit  into 
which  he  fell,  and  as  to  the  charge  that  he  took  to  low 
company.  His  early  biographers — Currie,  Walker,  Heron 
— drew  the  picture  somewhat  darkly ;  Lockhart  and  Cun- 
ningham have  endeavoured  to  lighten  the  depth  of  the 
shadows.  Chambers  has  laboured  to  give  the  facts  impar- 
tially, has  faithfully  placed  the  lights  and  the  shadows  side 
by  side,  and  has  summed  up  the  whole  subject  in  an  ap- 
pendix on  The  Reputation  of  Burns  in  his  Later  Years, 
to  which  I  would  refer  any  who  desire  to  see  this  pain- 
ful subject  minutely  handled.  Whatever  extenuations 
or  excuses  may  be  alleged,  all  must  allow  that  his  course 
in  Dumfries  was  on  the  whole  a  downward  one,  and  must 
concur,  however  reluctantly,  in  the  conclusion  at  which 
Lockhart,  while  decrying  the  severe  judgments  of  Currie, 
Heron,  and  others,  is  forced  by  truth  to  come,  that  "  the 


til]  LAST  YEARS.  171 

untimely  death  of  Burns  was,  it  is  too  probable,  hastened 
by  his  own  intemperances  and  imprudences."  To  inquire 
minutely,  what  was  the  extent  of  those  intemperances,  and 
what  the  nature  of  those  imprudences,  is  a  subject  which 
can  little  profit  any  one,  and  on  which  one  has  no  heart 
to  enter.  If  the  general  statement  of  fact  be  true,  the 
minute  details  are  better  left  to  the  kindly  oblivion,  which, 
but  for  too  prying  curiosity,  would  by  this  time  have  over- 
taken them. 

Dissipated  his  life  for  some  years  certainly  had  been — 
deeply  disreputable  many  asserted  it  to  be.  Others,  how- 
ever, there  were  who  took  a  more  lenient  view  of  him. 
Findlater,  Jiis  superior  in  the  Excise,  used  to  assert  that 
no  officer  under  him  was  more  regular  in  his  public  duties. 
Mr.  Gray,  then  teacher  of  Dumfries  school,  has  left  it  on 
record,  that  no  parent  he  knew  watched  more  carefully 
over  his  children's  education — that  he  had  often  found  the 
poet  in  his  home  explaining  to  his  eldest  boy  passages  of 
the  English  poets  from  Shakespeare  to  Gray,  and  that  the 
benefit  of  the  father's  instructions  was  apparent  in  the 
excellence  of  the  son's  daily  school  performances.  This 
brighter  side  of  the  picture,  however,  is  not  irreconcilable 
with  that  darker  one.  For  Burns's  whole  character  was 
a  compound  of  the  most  discordant  and  contradictory  el- 
ements. Dr.  Chambers  has  well  shown  that  he  who  at 
one  hour  was  the  douce  sober  Mr.  Burns,  in  the  next  was 
changed  to  the  maddest  of  Bacchanals  :  now  he  was  glow- 
ing with  the  most  generous  sentiments,  now  sinking  to  the 
very  opposite  extreme. 

One  of  the  last  visits  paid  to  him  by  any  friend  from  a 

distance  would  seem  to  have  been  by  Professor  Walker, 

although  the  date  of  it  is  somewhat  uncertain.     Eight 

years  had  passed   since  the  Professor  had  parted   with 
M 


172  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

Burns  at  Blair  Castle,  after  the  poet's  happy  visit  there. 
In  the  account  which  the  Professor  has  left  of  his  two 
days'  interview  with  Burns  at  Dumfries,  there  are  traces 
of  disappointment  with  the  change  which  the  intervening 
years  had  wrought.  It  has  been  alleged  that  prolonged 
residence  in  England  had  made  the  Professor  fastidious, 
and  more  easily  shocked  with  rusticity  and  coarseness. 
However  this  may  be,  he  found  Burns,  as  he  thought,  not 
improved,  but  more  dictatorial,  more  free  in  his  potations, 
more  coarse  and  gross  in  his  talk,  than  when  he  had  for- 
merly known  him. 

For  some  time  past  there  had  not  been  wanting  symp- 
toms to  show  that  the  poet's  strength  was  already  past  its 
prime.  In  June,  1794,  he  had,  as  we  have  seen,  told  Mrs. 
Dunlop  that  he  had  been  in  poor  health,  and  was  afraid 
he  was  beginning  to  suffer  for  the  follies  of  his  youth. 
His  physicians  threatened  him,  he  said,  with  flying  gout, 
but  he  trusted  they  were  mistaken.  In  the  spring  of  1795, 
he  said  to  one  who  called  on  him,  that  he  was  beginning 
to  feel  as  if  he  were  soon  to  be  an  old  man.  Still  he  went 
about  all  his  usual  employments.  But  during  the  latter 
part  of  that  year  his  health  seems  to  have  suddenly  de- 
clined. For  some  considerable  time  he  was  confined  to  a 
sick-bed.  Dr.  Currie,  who  was  likely  to  be  well  informed, 
states  that  this  illness  lasted  from  October,  1795,  till  the 
following  January.  No  details  of  his  malady  are  given, 
and  little  more  is  known  of  his  condition  at  this  time,  ex- 
cept what  he  himself  has  given  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop, 
and  in  a  rhymed  epistle  to  one  of  his  brother  Excisemen. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  he  must  have  felt  that,  owing 
to  his  prolonged  sickness,  his  funds  were  getting  low.  Else 
he  would  not  have  penned  to  his  friend,  Collector  Mitchell, 
the  following  request : 


til]  LAST  YEARS.  173 

"  Friend  of  the  Poet,  tried  and  leal, 
Wha,  wanting  thee,  might  beg  or  steal ; 
Alake,  alake,  the  meikle  deil 

Wi'  a'  his  witches 
Are  at  it,  skelpin' !  jig  and  reel, 

In  my  poor  pouches. 

"  I  modestly  fu  fain  wad  hint  it, 
That  one  pound  one,  I  sairly  want  it ; 
If  wi'  the  hizzie  down  ye  sent  it, 

It  would  be  kind ; 
And  while  my  heart  wi'  life-blood  dunted, 

I'd  bear't  in  mind. 

***** 

"  POSTSCRIPT. 

"Ye've  heard  this  while  how  I've  been  licket, 
And  by  fell  death  was  nearly  nicket : 
Grim  loun  !  he  gat  me  by  the  f  ecket, 

And  sair  me  sheuk ; 
But  by  gude  luck  I  lap  a  wicket, 
And  turn'd  a  neuk. 

"  But  by  that  health,  I've  got  a  share  o't, 
And  by  that  life,  I'm  promised  mair  o't, 
My  heal  and  weel  I'll  take  a  care  o't 

A  tentier  way : 
Then  fareweel,  folly,  hide  and  hair  o't, 

For  ance  and  aye." 

It  was,  alas !  too  late  now  to  bid  farewell  to  folly,  even 
if  he  could  have  done  so  indeed.  With  the  opening  of 
the  year  1796  he  somewhat  revived,  and  the  prudent  re- 
solve of  his  sickness  disappeared  with  the  first  prospect  of 
returning  health.  Chambers  thus  records  a  fact  which 
the  local  tradition  of  Dumfries  confirms : — "  Early  in  the 
month  of  January,  when  his  health  was  in  the  course  of 
improvement,  Burns  tarried  to  a  late  hour  at  a  jovial  party 
in  the  Globe  tavern.    Before  returning  home,  he  unluckily 


174  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chat. 

remained  for  some  time  in  the  open  air,  and,  overpowered 
by  the  effects  of  the  liquor  he  had  drunk,  fell  asleep.  .  .  . 
A  fatal  chill  penetrated  his  bones ;  he  reached  home  with 
the  seeds  of  a  rheumatic  fever  already  in  possession  of  his 
weakened  frame.  In  this  little  accident,  and  not  in  the 
pressure  of  poverty  or  disrepute,  or  wounded  feelings  or  a 
broken  heart,  truly  lay  the  determining  cause  of  the  sadly 
shortened  days  of  our  national  poet." 

How  long  this  new  access  of  extreme  illness  confined 
him  seems  uncertain.  Currie  says  for  about  a  week ; 
Chambers  surmises  a  longer  time.  Mr.  Scott  Douglas 
says,  that  from  the  close  of  January  till  the  month  of 
April,  he  seems  to  have  moved  about  with  some  hope  of 
permanent  improvement.  But  if  he  had  such  a  hope,  it 
was  destined  not  to  be  fulfilled.  Writing  on  the  31st  of 
January,  1196,  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  the  trusted  friend  of  so 
many  confidences,  this  is  the  account  he  gives  of  himself : 

"  I  have  lately  drunk  deep  of  the  cup  of  affliction.  The 
autumn  robbed  me  of  my  only  daughter  aud  darling  child, 
and  that  at  a  distance,  too,  and  so  rapidly  as  to  put  it  out 
of  my  power  to  pay  the  last  duties  to  her.  I  had  scarcely 
begun  to  recover  from  that  shock,  when  I  became  myself 
the  victim  of  a  most  severe  rheumatic  fever,  and  long  the 
die  spun  doubtful ;  until,  after  many  weeks  of  a  sick-bed, 
it  seems  to  have  turned  up  life,  and  I  am  beginning  to  crawl 
across  my  room,  and  once  indeed  have  been  before  my 
own  door  in  the  street."  In  these  words  Burns  would 
seem  to  have  put  his  two  attacks  together,  as  though  they 
were  but  one  prolonged  illness. 

It  was  about  this  time  that,  happening  to  meet  a  neigh- 
bour in  the  street,  the  poet  talked  with  her  seriously  of 
his  health,  and  said  among  other  things  this  :  "  I  find  that 
a  man  may  live  like  a  fool,  but  he  will  scarcely  die  like 


til]  LAST  YEARS.  175 

one."  As  from  time  to  time  he  appeared  on  the  street 
during  the  early  months  of  1796,  others  of  his  old  ac- 
quaintance were  struck  by  the  sight  of  a  tall  man  of  slov- 
enly appearance  and  sickly  aspect,  whom  a  second  look 
showed  to  be  Burns,  and  that  he  was  dying.  Yet  in  that 
February  there  were  still  some  flutters  of  song,  one  of 
which  was,  Hey  for  the  Lass  wi'  a  Tocher,  written  in  an- 
swer to  Thomson's  beseeching  inquiry  if  he  was  never  to 
hear  from  him  again.  Another  was  a  rhymed  epistle,  in 
which  he  answers  the  inquiries  of  the  colonel  of  his  Vol- 
unteer Corps  after  his  health. 

From  about  the  middle  of  April,  Burns  seldom  left  his 
room,  and  for  a  great  part  of  each  day  was  confined  to 
bed.  May  came  —  a  beautiful  May  —  and  it  was  hoped 
that  its  genial  influences  might  revive  him.  But  while 
young  Jeffrey  was  writing,  "  It  is  the  finest  weather  in  the 
world — the  whole  country  is  covered  with  green  and  blos- 
soms ;  and  the  sun  shines  perpetually  through  a  light  east 
wind,"  Burns  was  shivering  at  every  breath  of  the  breeze. 
At  this  crisis  his  faithful  wife  was  laid  aside,  unable  to  at- 
tend him.  But  a  young  neighbour,  Jessie  Lewars,  sister 
of  a  brother  exciseman,  came  to  their  house,  assisted  in  all 
household  work,  and  ministered  to  the  dying  poet.  She 
was  at  this  time  only  a  girl,  but  she  lived  to  be  a  wife  and 
mother,  and  to  see  an  honoured  old  age.  Whenever  we 
think  of  the  last  days  of  the  poet,  it  is  well  to  remember 
one  who  did  so  much  to  smooth  his  dying  pillow. 

Burns  himself  was  deeply  grateful,  and  his  gratitude  as 

usual  found  vent  in  song.     But  the  old  manner  still  clung 

to  him.     Even  then  he  could  not  express  his  gratitude  to 

his  young  benefactress  without  assuming  the  tone  of  a 

fancied  lover.     Two  songs  in  this  strain  he  addressed  to 

Jessie  Lewars.     Of  the  second  of  these  it  is  told,  that  one 
37 


176  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

morning  the  poet  said  to  her  that  if  she  would  play  to 
him  any  favourite  tune  for  which  she  desired  to  have  new 
words,  he  would  do  his  best  to  meet  her  wish.  She  sat 
down  at  the  piano,  and  played  over  several  times  the  air 
of  an  old  song  beginning  thus : 

"  The  robin  cam  to  the  wren's  nest, 
And  keekit  in,  and  keekit  in." 

As  soon  as  Burns  had  taken  in  the  melody,  he  set  to, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  composed  these  beautiful  words,  the 
second  of  the  songs  which  he  addressed  to  Jessie : 

"  Oh !  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast, 

On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea, 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 

I'd  shelter  thee,  I'd  shelter  thee. 
Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms 

Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw, 
Thy  bield  should  be  my  bosom, 

To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'. 

"  Or  were  I  in  the  wildest  waste, 

Sae  black  and  bare,  sae  black  and  bare, 
The  desert  were  a  paradise, 

If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there : 
Or  were  I  monarch  o'  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi'  thee  to  reign, 
The  brightest  jewel  in  my  crown 

Wad  be  my  queen,  wad  be  my  queen." 

Mendelssohn  is  said  to  have  so  much  admired  this  song, 
that  he  composed  for  it  what  Chambers  pronounces  an  air 
of  exquisite  pathos. 

June  came,  but  brought  no  improvement,  rather  rapid 
decline  of  health.  On  the  4th  of  July  (1796)  he  wrote  to 
Johnson,  "  Many   a  merry   meeting  this   publication   (the 


vn.]  LAST  YEARS.  1W 

Museum)  has  given  us,  and  possibly  it  may  give  us  more, 
though,  alas !  I  fear  it.  This  protracting,  slow  consuming 
illness  will,  I  doubt  much,  my  ever  dear  friend,  arrest  my 
sun  before  he  has  reached  his  middle  career,  and  will  turn 
over  the  poet  to  far  more  important  concerns  than  study- 
ing the  brilliancy  of  wit  or  the  pathos  of  sentiment,"  On 
the  day  on  which  he  wrote  these  words,  he  left  Dumfries 
for  a  lonely  place  called  Brow,  on  the  Solway  shore,  to  try 
the  effects  of  sea-bathing.  He  went  alone,  for  his  wife 
was  unable  to  accompany  him.  While  he  was  at  Brow, 
his  former  friend,  Mrs.  Walter  Riddel,  to  whom,  after  their 
estrangement,  he  had  been  reconciled,  happened  to  be  stay- 
ing, for  the  benefit  of  her  health,  in  the  neighbourhood. 
She  asked  Burns  to  dine  with  her,  and  sent  her  carriage 
to  bring  him  to  her  house.  This  is  part  of  the  account 
she  gives  of  that  interview : 

"  I  was  struck  with  his  appearance  on  entering  the  room. 
The  stamp  of  death  was  imprinted  on  his  features.  He 
seemed  already  touching  the  brink  of  eternity.  His  first 
salutation  was, '  Well,  madam,  have  you  any  commands  for 
the  other  world  V  I  replied  that  it  seemed  a  doubtful  case 
which  of  us  should  be  there  soonest,  and  that  I  hoped  he 
would  yet  live  to  write  my  epitaph.  He  looked  in  my  face 
with  an  air  of  great  kindness,  and  expressed  his  concern 
at  seeing  me  look  so  ill,  with  his  accustomed  sensibility. 
.  .  .  We  had  a  long  and  serious  conversation  about  his 
present  situation,  and  the  approaching  termination  of  all 
liis  earthly  prospects.  He  spoke  of  his  death  without  any 
of  the  ostentation  of  philosophy,  but  with  firmness  as  well 
as  feeling,  as  an  event  likely  to  happen  very  soon,  and 
which  gave  him  concern  chiefly  from  leaving  his  four  chil- 
dren so  young  and  unprotected,  and  his  wife  hourly  ex- 
pecting a  fifth.     He  mentioned,  with  seeming  pride  and 


178  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

satisfaction,  the  promising  genius  of  his  eldest  son,  and 
the  flattering  marks  of  approbation  he  had  received  from 
his  teachers,  and  dwelt  particularly  on  his  hopes  of  that 
boy's  future  conduct  and  merit.  His  anxiety  for  his  fam- 
ily seemed  to  hang  heavy  on  him,  and  the  more  perhaps 
from  the  reflection  that  he  had  not  done  them  all  the  jus- 
tice he  was  so  well  qualified  to  do.  Passing  from  this 
subject,  he  showed  great  concern  about  the  care  of  his  lit- 
erary fame,  and  particularly  the  publication  of  his  post- 
humous works.  He  said  he  was  well  aware  that  his  death 
would  create  some  noise,  and  that  every  scrap  of  his  writ- 
ing would  be  revived  against  him  to  the  injury  of  his  fut- 
ure reputation  ;  that  his  letters  and  verses  written  with 
unguarded  and  improper  freedom,  and  which  he  earnest- 
ly wished  to  have  buried  in  oblivion,  would  be  handed 
about  by  idle  vanity  or  malevolence,  when  no  dread  of 
his  resentment  would  restrain  them,  or  prevent  the  cen- 
sures of  shrill-tongued  malice,  or  the  insidious  sarcasms 
of  envy,  from  pouring  forth  all  their  venom  to  blast  his 
fame. 

"  He  lamented  that  he  had  written  many  epigrams  on 
persons  against  whom  he  entertained  no  enmity,  and  whose 
characters  he  would  be  sorry  to  wound ;  and  many  indif- 
ferent poetical  pieces,  which  he  feared  would  now,  with  all 
their  imperfections  on  their  head,  be  thrust  upon  the  world. 
On  this  account  he  deeply  regretted  having  deferred  to  put 
his  papers  in  a  state  of  arrangement,  as  he  was  now  inca- 
pable of  the  exertion.  .  .  .  The  conversation,"  she  adds, 
"  was  kept  up  with  great  evenness  and  animation  on  his 
side.  I  had  seldom  seen  his  mind  greater  or  more  collect- 
ed. There  was  frequently  a  considerable  degree  of  vivacity 
in  his  sallies,  and  they  would  probably  have  had  a  greater 
share,  had  not  the  concern  and  dejection  I  could  not  dis 


vii.]  LAST  YEARS.  179 

guise  damped  the  spirit  of  pleasantry  he  seemed  not  un- 
willing to  indulge. 

"We  parted  about  sunset  on  the  evening  of  that  day 
(the  5th  July,  1796);  the  next  day  I  saw  him  again,  and 
we  parted  to  meet  no  more !" 

It  is  not  wonderful  that  Burns  should  have  felt  some 
anxiety  about  the  literary  legacy  he  was  leaving  to  man- 
kind. Not  about  his  best  poems ;  these,  he  must  have 
known,  would  take  care  of  themselves.  Yet  even  among 
the  poems  which  he  had  published  with  his  name,  were 
some  "  which  dying  "  he  well  might  "  wish  to  blot."  There 
lay  among  his  papers  letters  too,  and  other  "  fallings  from 
him,"  which  he  no  doubt  would  have  desired  to  suppress, 
but  of  which,  if  they  have  not  all  been  made  public,  enough 
have  appeared  to  justify  his  fears  of  that  idle  vanity,  if  not 
malevolence,  which,  after  his  death,  would  rake  up  every 
scrap  he  had  written,  uncaring  how  it  might  injure  his 
good  name,  or  affect  future  generations  of  his  admirers. 
No  poet  perhaps  has  suffered  more  from  the  indiscriminate 
and  unscrupulous  curiosity  of  editors,  catering  too  greedily 
for  the  public,  than  Burns  has  done. 

Besides  anxieties  of  this  kind,  he,  during  those  last  days, 
had  to  bear  another  burden  of  care  that  pressed  even  more 
closely  home.  To  pain  of  body,  absence  from  his  wife  and 
children,  and  haunting  anxiety  on  their  account,  was  added 
the  pressure  of  some  small  debts  and  the  fear  of  want.  By 
the  rules  of  the  Excise,  his  full  salary  would  not  be  allowed 
him  during  his  illness ;  and  though  the  Board  agreed  to 
continue  Burns  in  his  full  pay,  he  never  knew  this  in  time 
to  be  comforted  by  it.  With  his  small  income  diminished, 
how  could  he  meet  the  increased  expenditure  caused  by 
sickness  ?  We  have  seen  how  at  the  beginning  of  the  year 
he  had  written  to  his  friend  Mitchell  to  ask  the  loan  of  a 


130  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

guinea.  One  or  two  letters,  asking  for  the  payment  of 
some  old  debts  due  to  him  by  a  former  companion,  still 
remain.  During  his  stay  at  Brow,  on  the  12th  of  July,  he 
wrote  to  Thomson  the  following  memorable  letter : 

"After  all  my  boasted  independence,  curst  necessity 
compels  me  to  implore  you  for  five  pounds.  A  cruel 
scoundrel  of  a  haberdasher,  to  whom  I  owe  an  account, 
taking  it  into  his  head  that  I  am  dying,  has  commenced 
a  process,  and  will  infallibly  put  me  into  jail.  Do,  for 
God's  sake,  send  that  sum,  and  that  by  return  of  post. 
Forgive  me  this  earnestness,  but  the  horrors  of  a  jail  have 
made  me  half  distracted.  I  do  not  ask  all  this  gratuitous- 
ly ;  for,  upon  returning  health,  I  hereby  promise  and  en- 
gage to  furnish  you  with  five  pounds'  worth  of  the  neatest 
song-genius  you  have  seen.  I  tried  my  hand  on  Rother- 
murchie  this  morning.  The  measure  is  so  difficult  that  it 
is  impossible  to  infuse  much  genius  into  the  lines.  They 
are  on  the  other  side.  Forgive,  forgive  me !"  And  on 
the  other  side  was  written  Burns's  last  song,  beginning, 
"  Fairest  maid,  on  Devon  banks."  Was  it  native  feeling, 
or  inveterate  habit,  that  made  him  that  morning  revert  to 
the  happier  days  he  had  seen  on  the  banks  of  Devon,  and 
sinff  a  last  sonof  to  one  of  the  two  beauties  he  had  there 
admired  ?  Chambers  thinks  it  was  to  Charlotte  Hamilton ; 
the  latest  editor  refers  it  to  Peggy  Chalmers. 

Thomson  at  once  sent  the  sum  asked  for.  He  has  been 
much,  but  not  justly,  blamed  for  not  having  sent  a  much 
larger  sum,  and  indeed  for  not  having  repaid  the  poet  for 
his  songs  long  before.  Against  such  charges  it  is  enough 
to  reply  that  when  Thomson  had  formerly  volunteered 
some  money  to  Burns  in  return  for  his  songs,  the  indig- 
nant poet  told  him  that  if  he  ever  again  thought  of  such 
a  thing,  their  intercourse  must  thenceforth  cease.      And 


vh.]  LAST  YEAES.  181 

for  the  smallness  of  the  sum  sent,  it  should  be  remembered 
that  Thomson  was  himself  a  poor  man,  and  had  not  at  this 
time  made  anything  by  his  Collection  of  Songs,  and  never 
did  make  much  beyond  repayment  of  his  large  outlay. 

On  the  same  day  on  which  Burns  wrote  thus  to  Thom- 
son, he  wrote  another  letter  in  much  the  same  terms  to  his 
cousin,  Mr.  James  Burnes,  of  Montrose,  asking  him  to  as- 
sist him  with  ten  pounds,  which  was  at  once  sent  by  his 
relative,  who,  though  not  a  rich,  was  a  generous -hearted 
man. 

There  was  still  a  third  letter  written  on  that  12th  of 
July  (1796)  from  Brow.  Of  Mrs.  Dunlop,  who  had  for 
some  months  ceased  her  correspondence  with  him,  the 
poet  takes  this  affecting  farewell : — "  I  have  written  you 
so  often,  without  receiving  any  answer,  that  I  would  not 
trouble  you  again  but  for  the  circumstances  in  which  I 
am.  An  illness  which  has  long  hung  about  me,  in  all 
probability  will  speedily  send  me  beyond  that  'bourn 
whence  no  traveller  returns.'  Your  friendship,  with 
which  for  many  years  you  honoured  me,  was  a  friendship 
dearest  to  mv  soul.  Your  conversation,  and  especially 
your  correspondence,  were  at  once  highly  entertaining  and 
instructive.  With  what  pleasure  did  I  use  to  break  up 
the  seal !  The  remembrance  yet  adds  one  pulse  more  to 
my  poor  palpitating  heart.     Farewell !" 

On  the  14th  he  wrote  to  his  wife,  saying  that  though  the 
sea-bathing  had  eased  his  pains,  it  had  not  done  anything 
to  restore  his  health.  The  following  anecdote  of  him  at 
this  time  has  been  preserved : — "  A  night  or  two  before 
Burns  left  Brow,  he  drank  tea  with  Mrs.  Craig,  widow  of 
the  minister  of  Ruthwell.  His  altered  appearance  excited 
much  silent  sympathy ;  and  the  evening  being  beautiful, 
and  the  sun  shining  brightly  through  the  casement,  Miss 


182  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

Craig  (afterwards  Mrs.  Henry  Duncan)  was  afraid  the  light 
mifdit  be  too  much  for  him,  and  rose  to  let  down  the  win- 
dow-blinds.  Burns  immediately  guessed  what  she  meant, 
and  regarding  the  young  lady  with  a  look  of  great  benig- 
nity, said,  '  Thank  you,  my  dear,  for  your  kind  attention ; 
but  oh  !  let  him  shine  :  he  will  not  shine  long  for  me.' ' 

On  the  18th  July  he  left  Brow,  and  returned  to  Dum- 
fries in  a  small  spring -cart.  When  he  alighted,  the  on- 
lookers saw  that  he  was  hardly  able  to  stand,  and  observed 
that  he  walked  with  tottering  steps  to  his  door.  Those 
who  saw  him  enter  his  house,  knew  by  his  appearance 
that  he  would  never  again  cross  that  threshold  alive. 
When  the  news  spread  in  Dumfries  that  Burns  had  re- 
turned from  Brow  and  was  dying,  the  whole  town  was 
deeply  moved.  Allan  Cunningham,  who  was  present,  thus 
describes  what  he  saw  : — "  The  anxiety  of  the  people,  high 
and  low,  was  very  great.  Wherever  two  or  three  were  to- 
gether, their  talk  was  of  Burns,  and  of  him  alone.  They 
spoke  of  his  history,  of  his  person,  and  of  his  works ;  of 
his  witty  sayings,  and  sarcastic  replies,  and  of  his  too  ear- 
ly fate,  with  much  enthusiasm,  and  sometimes  with  deep 
feeling.  All  that  he  had  done,  and  all  that  they  had 
hoped  he  would  accomplish,  were  talked  of.  Half  a  doz- 
en of  them  stopped  Dr.  Maxwell  in  the  street,  and  said, 
'  How  is  Burns,  sir  ?'  He  shook  his  head,  saying, '  He 
cannot  be  worse,'  and  passed  on  to  be  subjected  to  similar 
inquiries  farther  up  the  way.  I  heard  one  of  a  group  in- 
quire, with  much  simplicity,  '  Who  do  you  think  will  be 
our  poet  now  V  " 

During  the  three  or  four  days  between  his  return  from 
Brow  and  the  end,  his  mind,  when  not  roused  by  conver- 
sation, wandered  in  delirium.  Yet  when  friends  drew  near 
his  bed,  sallies  of  his  old  wit  would  for  a  moment  return. 


vii.]  LAST  YEAKS.  183 

To  a  brother  volunteer  who  came  to  see  him  he  said,  with 
a  smile,  "John,  don't  let  the  awkward  squad  lire  over  me." 
His  wife  was  unable  to  attend  him  ;  and  four  helpless 
children  wandered  from  room  to  room  gazing  on  their 
unhappy  parents.  All  the  while,  Jessie  Lewars  was  min- 
istering to  the  helpless  and  to  the  dying  one,  and  doing 
what  kindness  could  do  to  relieve  their  suffering.  On  the 
fourth  day  after  his  return,  the  21st  of  July,  Burns  sank 
into  his  last  sleep.  His  children  stood  around  his  bed, 
and  his  eldest  son  remembered  long  afterwards  all  the  civ 
cumstances  of  that  sad  hour. 

The  news  that  Burns  was  dead,  sounded  through  all 
Scotland  like  a  knell  announcing  a  great  national  bereave- 
ment. Men  woke  up  to  feel  the  greatness  of  the  gift 
which  in  him  had  been  vouchsafed  to  their  generation, 
and  which  had  met,  on  the  whole,  writh  so  poor  a  recep- 
tion. Self-reproach  mingled  with  the  universal  sorrow,  as 
men  asked  themselves  whether  they  might  not  have  done 
more  to  cherish  and  prolong  that  rarely  gifted  life. 

Of  course  there  was  a  great  public  funeral,  in  which  the 
men  of  Dumfries  and  the  neighbourhood,  high  and  low, 
appeared  as  mourners,  and  soldiers  and  volunteers  with 
colours,  muffled  drums,  and  arms  reversed,  not  very  appro- 
priately mingled  in  the  procession.  At  the  very  time 
when  they  were  laying  her  husband  in  his  grave,  Mrs. 
Burns  gave  birth  to  his  posthumous  son.  He  was  called 
Maxwell,  after  the  physician  who  attended  his  father,  but 
he  died  in  infancy.  The  spot  where  the  poet  was  laid 
was  in  a  corner  of  St.  Michael's  churchyard,  and  the  grave 
remained  for  a  time  unmarked  by  any  monument.  After 
some  years  his  wife  placed  over  it  a  plain,  unpretending 
stone,  inscribed  with  his  name  and  age,  and  with  the  names 
of  his  two  boys,  who  were  buried  in  the  same  place.    Well 


184  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

had  it  been,  if  he  had  been  allowed  to  rest  undisturbed  in 
this  grave  where  his  family  had  laid  him.  But  well-mean- 
ing, though  ignorant,  officiousness  would  not  suffer  it  to 
be  so.  Nearly  twenty  years  after  the  poet's  death,  a  huge, 
cumbrous,  unsightly  mausoleum  was,  by  public  subscrip- 
tion, erected  at  a  little  distance  from  his  original  resting- 
place.  This  structure  was  adorned  with  an  ungraceful  fig- 
ure in  marble,  representing  "The  muse  of  Coila  finding 
the  poet  at  the  plough,  and  throwing  her  inspiring  mantle 
over  him."  To  this  was  added  a  long,  rambling  epitaph 
in  tawdry  Latin,  as  though  any  inscription  which  scholars 
could  devise  could  equal  the  simple  name  of  Robert  Burns. 
When  the  new  structure  was  completed,  on  the  19th  Sep- 
tember, 1815,  his  grave  was  opened,  and  men  for  a  mo- 
ment gazed  with  awe  on  the  form  of  Burns,  seemingly  as 
entire  as  on  the  day  when  first  it  was  laid  in  the  grave. 
But  as  soon  as  they  began  to  raise  it,  the  whole  body 
crumbled  to  dust,  leaving  only  the  head  and  bones.  These 
relics  they  bore  to  the  mausoleum  which  had  been  pre- 
pared for  their  reception.  But  not  even  yet  was  the 
poet's  dust  to  be  allowed  to  rest  in  peace.  When  his 
widow  died,  in  March,  1834,  the  mausoleum  was  opened, 
that  she  might  be  laid  by  her  husband's  side.  Some  cra- 
niologists  of  Dumfries  were  then  permitted,  in  the  name 
of  so-called  science,  to  desecrate  his  dust  with  their  inhu- 
man outrage.  At  the  dead  of  night,  between  the  31st  of 
March  and  the  1st  of  April,  these  men  laid  their  profane 
fingers  on  the  skull  of  Burns,  "  tried  their  hats  upon  it, 
and  found  them  all  too  little ;"  applied  their  compasses, 
registered  the  size  of  the  so-called  organs,  and  "  satisfied 
themselves  that  Burns  had  capacity  enough  to  compose 
Tarn  o'  Shanter,  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  and  To 
Mary  in  Heaven."     This  done,  they  laid  the  head  once 


vii.]  LAST  YEARS.  185 

again  in  the  hallowed  ground,  where,  let  us  hope,  it  will  be 
disturbed  no  more.  This  mausoleum,  unsightly  though  it 
is,  has  become  a  place  of  pilgrimage  whither  yearly  crowds 
of  travellers  resort  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  gaze  on 
the  resting-place  of  Scotland's  peasant  poet,  and  thence 
to  pass  to  that  other  consecrated  place  within  ruined  Dry- 
burgh,  where  lies  the  dust  of  a  kindred  spirit  by  his  own 
Tweed. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS. 


If  this  narrative  has  in  any  way  succeeded  in  giving  the 
lights  and  the  shadows  of  Burns's  life,  little  comment 
need  now  be  added.  The  reader  will,  it  is  hoped,  gather 
from  the  brief  record  of  facts  here  presented  a  better  im- 
pression of  the  man  as  he  was,  in  his  strength  and  in  his 
weakness,  than  from  any  attempt  which  might  have  been 
made  to  bring  his  various  qualities  together  into  a  moral 
portrait.  Those  who  wish  to  see  a  comment  on  his  char- 
acter, at  once  wise  and  tender,  should  turn  to  Mr.  Carlyle's 
famous  essay  on  Burns. 

What  estimate  is  to  be  formed  of  Burns — not  as  a  poet, 
but  as  a  man — is  a  question  that  will  long  be  asked,  and 
will  be  variously  answered,  according  to  the  principles  men 
hold,  and  the  temperament  they  are  of.  Men  of  the  world 
will  regard  him  one  way,  worshippers  of  genius  in  anoth- 
er; and  there  are  many  whom  the  judgments  of  neither 
of  these  will  satisfy.  One  thing  is  plain  to  every  one ;  it 
is  the  contradiction  between  the  noble  gifts  he  had  and 
the  actual  life  he  lived,  which  make  his  career  the  painful 
tragedy  it  was.  When,  however,  we  look  more  closely 
into  the  original  outfit  of  the  man,  we  seem  in  some  sort 
to  see  how  this  came  to  be. 

Given  a  being  born  into  the  world  with  a  noble  nature, 


CHAP.vm.]  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS.  187 

endowments  of  head  and  heart  heyond  any  of  his  time, 
wide-ranging  sympathies,  intellectual  force  of  the  strongest 
man,  sensibility  as  of  the  tenderest  woman,  possessed  also 
bv  a  keen  sense  of  right  and  wrong  which  he  had  brought 
from  a  pure  home — place  all  these  high  gifts  on  the  one 
ide,  and  over  against  them  a  lower  nature,  fierce  and  tur- 
bulent, filling  him  with  wild  passions  which  were  hard  to 
restrain  and  fatal  to  indulge — and  between  these  two  op- 
posing natures,  a  weak  and  irresolute  will,  which  could  over- 
hear the  voice  of  conscience,  but  had  no  strength  to  obey 
it;  launch  such  a  man  on  such  a  world  as  this,  and  it  is 
but  too  plain  what  the  end  will  be.  From  earliest  man- 
hood till  the  close,  flesh  and  spirit  were  waging  within 
him  interminable  war,  and  who  shall  say  which  had  the 
victory  ?  Among  his  countrymen  there  are  many  who  are 
so  captivated  with  his  brilliant  gifts  and  his  genial  tem- 
perament, that  they  will  not  listen  to  any  hint  at  the  deep 
defects  which  marred  them.  Some  would  even  go  so  far 
as  to  claim  honour  for  him,  not  only  as  Scotland's  greatest 
poet,  but  as  one  of  the  best  men  she  has  produced.  Those 
who  thus  try  to  canonize  Burns  are  no  true  friends  to  his 
memory.  They  do  but  challenge  the  counter-verdict,  and 
force  men  to  recall  facts  which,  if  they  cannot  forget,  they 
would  fain  leave  in  silence.  These  moral  defects  it  is  ours 
to  know ;  it  is  not  ours  to  judge  him  who  had  them. 

While  some  would  claim  for  Burns  a  niche  among  Scot- 
land's saints,  others  would  give  him  rank  as  one  of  her 
religious  teachers.  This  claim,  if  not  so  absurd  as  the 
other,  is  hardly  more  tenable.  (The  religion  described  by 
Burns  in  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  is,  it  should  be  re- 
membered, his  father's  faith,  not  his  own.  The  funda- 
mental truths  of  natural  religion,  faith  in  God  and  in  im- 
mortality, amid  sore  trials  of  heart,  he  no  doubt  clung  to, 
N 


188  ROBERT  BURtfS.  [chap, 

and  has  forcibly  expressed.  But  there  is  nothing  in  his 
poems  or  in  his  letters  which  goes  beyond  sincere  deism — 
nothing  which  is  in  any  way  distinctively  Christian. 

Even  were  his  teaching  of  religion  much  fuller  than  it 
is,  one  essential  thing  is  still  wanting.  Before  men  can 
accept  any  one  as  a  religious  teacher,  they  not  unreason- 
ably expect  that  his  practice  should  in  some  measure  bear 
out  his  teaching.  It  was  not  as  an  authority  on  such 
matters  that  Burns  ever  regarded  himself.  In  his  Bard's 
Epitaph,  composed  ten  years  before  his  death,  he  took  a 
far  truer  and  humbler  measure  of  himself  than  any  of  his 
critics  or  panegyrists  have  done : 

"  The  poor  inhabitant  below 
Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  know, 
And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow 

And  softer  flame ; 
But  thoughtless  folly  laid  him  low, 

And  stained  his  name. 

"  Reader,  attend !  whether  thy  soul 
Soars  fancy's  flight  beyond  the  pole, 
Or  darkling  grubs  this  earthly  hole, 

In  low  pursuit ; 
Know,  prudent,  cautious  self-control 

Is  wisdom's  root." 

"A  confession,"  says  Wordsworth,  "at  once  devout,  poet- 
ical, and  human — a  history  in  the  shape  of  a  prophecy." 
Leaving  the  details  of  his  personal  story,  and — 

"  Each  unquiet  theme, 
Where  gentlest  judgments  may  misdeem," 

it  is  a  great  relief  to  turn  to  the  bequest  that  he  has  left 
to  the  world  in  his  poetry.  How  often  has  one  been 
tempted  to  wish  that  we  had  known  as  little  of  the  actual 


mi.]  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS.  189 

career  of  Burns  as  we  do  of  the  life  of  Shakespeare,  or 
even  of  Homer,  and  had  been  left  to  read  his  mind  and 
character  only  by  the  light  of  his  works !  That  poetry, 
though  a  fragmentary,  is  still  a  faithful  transcript  of  what 
was  best  in  the  man ;  and  though  his  stream  of  song  con- 
tains some  sediment  we  could  wish  away,  yet  as  a  whole, 
how  vividly,  clearly,  sunnily  it  flows !  how  far  the  good 
preponderates  over  the  evil ! 

What  that  good  is  must  now  be  briefly  said.  To  take 
his  earliest  productions  first,  his  poems  as  distinct  from 
his  songs.  A  (most  all  the  best  of  these  are,  with  the 
one  notable  exception  of  Tarn  O"1  Shanter,  contained  in  the 
Kilmarnock  edition.  A  few  pieces  actually  composed  be- 
fore he  went  to  Edinburgh  were  included  in  later  editions, 
but  after  leaving  Mossgiel  he  never  seriously  addressed 
himself  to  any  form  of  poetry  but  song-writing.  The  Kil- 
marnock volume  coutains  poems  descriptive  of  peasant  life 
and  manners,  epistles  in  verse  generally  to  rhyming  breth- 
ren, a  few  lyrics  on  personal  feelings,  or  on  incidents  like 
those  of  the  mouse  and  the  daisy,  and  three  songs.  In 
these,  the  form,  the  metre,  the  style  and  language,  even 
that  which  is  known  as  Burns's  peculiar  stanza,  all  belong 
to  the  traditional  forms  of  his  country's  poetry,  and  from 
earlier  bards  had  been  handed  down  to  Burns  by  his  two 
immediate  forerunners,  Ramsay  and  Fergusson.  To  these 
two  he  felt  himself  indebted,  and  for  them  he  always  ex- 
presses a  somewhat  exaggerated  admiration.  Nothing  can 
more  show  Burns's  inherent  power  than  to  compare  his 
poems  with  even  the  best  of  those  which  he  accepted  as 
models.  The  old  framework  and  metres  which  his  coun- 
try supplied,  he  took ;  asked  no  other,  no  better,  and  into 
those  old  bottles  poured  new  wine  of  his  own,  and  such 
wine !     What,  then,  is  the  peculiar  flavour  of  this  new  po- 


190  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

etic  wine  of  Buras's  poetry  ?  At  the  basis  of  all  his  pow- 
er lay  absolute  truthfulness,  intense  reality,  truthfulness  to 
the  objects  which  he  saw,  truthfulness  to  himself  as  the 
seer  of  them.  This  is  what  Wordsworth  recognized  as 
Burns's  leading  characteristic.  He  who  acknowledged 
few  masters,  owned  Burns  as  his  master  in  this  respect 
when  he  speaks  of  him — 

"Whose  light  I  hailed  when  first  it  shone, 
And  showed  my  youth, 
How  verse  may  build  a  princely  throne 
On  humble  truth." 

Here  was  a  man,  a  son  of  toil,  looking  out  on  the  world 
from  his  cottage,  on  society  low  and  high,  and  on  nature 
homely  or  beautiful,  with  the  clearest  eye,  the  most  pierc- 
ing insight,  and  the  warmest  heart ;  touching  life  at  a 
hundred  points,  seeing  to  the  core  all  the  sterling  worth, 
nor  less  the  pretence  and  hollowness  of  the  men  he  met, 
the  humour,  the  drollery,  the  pathos,  and  the  sorrow  of 
human  existence ;  and  expressing  what  he  saw,  not  in  the 
stock  phrases  of  books,  but  in  his  own  vernacular,  the  lan- 
guage of  his  fireside,  with  a  directness,  a  force,  a  vitality 
that  tingled  to  the  finger  tips,  and  forced  the  phrases  of 
his  peasant  dialect  into  literature,  and  made  them  for  ever 
classical.  Large  sympathy,  generous  enthusiasm,  reckless 
abandonment,  fierce  indignation,  melting  compassion,  rare 
flashes  of  moral  insight,  all  are  there.  Everywhere  you 
see  the  strong  intellect  made  alive,  and  driven  home  to  the 
mark,  by  the  fervid  heart  behind  it.  And  if  the  sight  of 
the  world's  inequalities,  and  some  natural  repining  at  his 
own  obscure  lot,  mingled  from  the  beginning,  as  has  been 
said,  "  some  bitterness  of  earthly  spleen  and  passion  with 
the  workings  of  his  inspiration,  and  if  these  in  the  end  ato 


Tm.j  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS.  191 

deep  into  the  great  heart  they  had  long  tormented,"  who 
that  has  not  known  his  experience  may  venture  too  strong- 
ly ^to.  condemn  him  ? 

This  prevailing  truthfulness  of  nature  and  of  vision 
manifested  itself  in  many  ways.  First.  In  the  strength 
of  it,  he  interpreted  the  lives,  thoughts,  feelings,  manners 
of  the  Scottish  peasantry  to  whom  he  belonged,  as  they 
had  never  been  interpreted  before,  and  never  can  be  again. 
Take  the  poem  which  stands  first  in"the  Kilmarnock  edi- 
tion. The  Cotter's  Dog  and  the  Laird's  Dog  are,  as  has 
been  often  said,  for  all  their  moralizing,  true  dogs  in  all 
their  ways.  Yet  through  these,  while  not  ceasing  to  be 
dogs,  the  poet  represents  the  whole  contrast  between  the 
Cotters'  lives,  and  their  Lairds'.  This  old  controversy, 
which  is  ever  new,  between  rich  and  poor,  has  never  been 
set  forth  with  more  humour  and  power.  No  doubt  it  is 
done  from  the  peasant's  point  of  view.  The  virtues  and 
hardships  of  the  poor  have  full  justice  done  to  them ;  the 
prosperity  of  the  rich,  with  its  accompanying  follies  and 
faults,  is  not  spared,  perhaps  it  is  exaggerated.  The  whole 
is  represented  with  an  inimitably  graphic  hand,  and  just 
when  the  caustic  wit  is  beginning  to  get  too  biting,  the 
edge  of  it  is  turned  by  a  touch  of  kindlier  humour.     The 

poor  dog  speaks  of 

"  Some  gentle  master, 
Wha,  aiblins  thrang  a-parliamentin, 
For  Britain's  guid  his  saul  indentin — " 


Then  Caesar,  the  rich  man's  dog,  replies — 

"  Haith,  lad,  ye  little  ken  about  it : 

For  Britain's  guid  ! — guid  faith  !  I  doubt  it. 

Say  rather,  gaun  as  Premiers  lead  him, 

An'  saying  aye  or  no  's  they  bid  him  ; 
38 


192  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

At  operas  an'  plays  parading, 
Mortgaging,  gambling,  masquerading : 
Or,  may  be,  in  a  frolic  daft, 
To  Hague  or  Calais  takes  a  waft, 
To  make  a  tour  an'  tak  a  whirl, 
To  learn  bon  ton,  an'  see  the  worl'. 

"  Then,  at  Vienna  or  Versailles, 
He  rives  his  father's  auld  entails ; 
Or  by  Madrid  he  takes  the  rout, 

To  thrum  guitars  and  fecht  wi'  nowt. 

***** 

For  Britain's  guid !  for  her  destruction ! 
Wi'  dissipation,  feud  an'  faction." 

Then  exclaims  Luath,  the  poor  man's  dog — 

"  Hech,  man !  dear  sirs !  is  that  the  gate 
They  waste  sae  mony  a  braw  estate ! 
Are  we  sae  foughten  and  harass'd 
For  gear  to  gang  that  gate  at  last  ?" 

And  yet  he  allows,  that  for  all  that 

" Thae  frank,  rantin',  ramblin'  billies, 


Fient  haet  o'  them's  ill-hearted  fellows." 

"  Mark  the  power  of  that  one  word, '  nowt,' "  said  the 
late  Thomas  Aird.  "  If  the  poet  had  said  that  our  young 
fellows  went  to  Spain  to  fight  with  bulls,  there  would  have 
been  some  dignity  in  the  thing,  but  think  of  his  going  all 
that  way  l  to/  fecht  wi'  nowt.'  It  was  felt  at  once  to  be 
ridiculous.  .That  one  word  conveyed  at  oncg^a  statement 
of  the  folly,  and  a  sarcastic  rebuke  of  the  folly ,t!'J 
-.^Or  turn  to  the  poem  of  Halloween.  Here  he  has 
sketched  the  Ayrshire  peasantry  as  they  appeared  in  their 
hours  of  merriment — painted  with  a  few  vivid  strokes  a 
dozen  distinct  pictures  of  country  lads  and  lasses,  sires  and 


vm]  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS.  193 

dames,  and  at  the  same  time  preserved  for  ever  the  re- 
membrance of  antique  customs  and  superstitious  observ- 
ances, which  even  in  Burns's  day  were  beginning-  to  fade, 
and  have  now  all  but  disappeared. 

■  Or  again,  take  The  mild  Farmer's  N^ew-year-mornina 
Salutation  to  his  auld  Mare.  In  this  homely,  but  most 
kindly  humorous  poem,  you  have  the  whole  toiling  life 
of  a  ploughman  and  his  horse,  done  off  in  two  or  three 
touches,  and  the  elements  of  what  may  seem  a  common- 
place, but  was  to  Burns  a  most  vivid,  experience,  are  made 
to  live  for  ever.  For  a  piece  of  good  graphic  Scotch,  see 
how  he  describes  the  sturdy  old  mare  in  the  plough  set- 
ting her  face  to  the  furzy  braes. 

"  Thou  never  braing't,  an'  fetch't,  and  fliskit, 
But  thy  auld  tail  thou  wad  hae  whiskit, 
An'  spread  abreed  thy  weel-fill'd  brisket, 

Wi'  pith  an'  pow'r, 
Till  spritty  knowes  wad  rair't  and  riskit, 

An'  slypet  owre." 

To  paraphrase  this,  "  Thou  didst  never  fret,  or  plunge 
and  kick,  but  thou  wouldest  have  whisked  thy  old  tail, 
and  spread  abroad  thy  large  chest,  with  pith  and  power, 
till  hillocks,  where  the  earth  was  filled  with  tough-rooted 
plants,  would  have  given  forth  a  cracking  sound,  and  the 
clods  fallen  gently  over."  The  latter  part  of  this  para- 
phrase is  taken  from  Chambers.  What  pure  English 
words  could  have  rendered  these  things  as  compactly  and 
graphically  ? 

J"Of  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  it  is  hardly  needful 
{o  speak.  As  a  work  of  art,  it  is  by  no  means  at  Burns's 
highest  level.  The  metre  was  not  native  to  him.  It  con- 
tains some  lines  that  are  feeble,  whole  stanzas  that  are 

9* 


194  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

heavy.  But  as  Lockhart  has  said,  in  words  already  quoted, 
there  is  none  of  his  poems  that  does  such  justice  to  the 
better  nature  that  was  originally  in  him.  It  shows  how 
Burns  could  reverence  the  old  national  piety,  however  lit- 
tle he  may  have  been  able  to  practise  it.  It  is  the  more 
valuable  for  this,  that  it  is  almost  the  only  poem  in  which 
either  of  our  two  great  national  poets  has  described  Scot- 
tish character  on  the  side  of  that  grave,  deep,  though  un- 
demonstrative reverence,  which  has  been  an  intrinsic  ele- 
ment in  it. 

-  No  wonder  the  peasantry  of  Scotland  have  loved  Burns 
as  perhaps  never  people  loved  a  poet.  He  not  only  sym- 
pathized with  the  wants,  the  trials,  the  joys  and  sorrows 
of  their  obscure  lot,  but  he  interpreted  these  to  them- 
selves,  and  interpreted  them  to  others,  and  this  too  in  their 
own  language,  made  musical  and  glorified  by  genius.  He 
made  the  poorest  ploughman  proud  of  his  station  and  his 
toil,  since  Robbie  Burns  had  shared  and  had  suno-  them. 
He  awoke  a  sympathy  for  them  in  many  a  heart  that  oth- 
erwise would  never  have  known  it.  In  looking  up  to  him, 
the  Scottish  people  have  seen  an  impersonation  of  them- 
selves on  a  large  scale — of  themselves,  both  in  their  virtues 
and  in  their  vices. 

Secondly.  Burns  in  his  poetry  was  not  only  the  inter- 
preter of  Scotland's  peasantry,  he  was  the  restorer  of  her 
nationality.  When  he  appeared,  the  spirit  of  Scotland 
was  at  a  low  ebb.  The  fatigue  that  followed  a  century  of 
religious  strife,  the  extinction  of  her  Parliament,  the  stern 
suppression  of  the  Jacobite  risings,  the  removal  of  all  sym- 
bols of  her  royalty  and  nationality,  had  all  but  quenched 
the  ancient  spirit.  Englishmen  despised  Scotchmen,  and 
Scotchmen  seemed  ashamed  of  themselves  and  of  then- 
country.     A  race  of  literary  men  had  sprung  up  in  Edin- 


vm.]  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SOXGS.  195 

burgh  who,  as  to  national  feeling,  were  entirely  colourless, 
Scotchmen  in  nothing  except  their  dwelling-place.  The 
thing  they  most  dreaded  was  to  be  convicted  of  a  Scotti- 
cism. Among  these  learned  cosmopolitans  in  walked 
Burns,  who  with  the  instinct  of  genius  chose  for  his  sub- 
ject that  Scottish  life  which  they  ignored,  and  for  his 
vehicle  that  vernacular  which  they  despised,  and  who, 
touching  the  springs  of  long-forgotten  emotions,  brought 
back  on  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  a  tide^of  patriotic 
feeling  to  which  they  had  long  been  strangers^-—* 

At  first  it  was  only  his  native  Ayrshire  he  hoped  to 
illustrate ;  to  shed  upon  the  streams  of  Ayr  and  Doon  the 
power  of  Yarrow,  and  Teviot,  and  Tweed.  But  his  patri- 
otism was  not  merely  local ;  the  traditions  of  Wallace 
haunted  him  like  a  passion,  the  wanderings  of  Bruce  he 
hoped  to  dramatize.  His  well-known  words  about  the 
Thistle  have  been  already  quoted.  They  express  what 
was  one  of  his  strongest  aspirations.  And  though  he  ac- 
complished but  a  small  part  of  what  he  once  hoped  to  do, 
yet  we  owe  it  to  him  first  of  all  that  "  the  old  kingdom  " 
has  not  wholly  sunk  into  a  province.  If  Scotchmen  to- 
day love  and  cherish  their  country  with  a  pride  unknown 
to  their  ancestors  of  the  last  century,  if  strangers  of  all 
countries  look  on  Scotland  as  a  land  of  romance,  this  we 
owe  in  great  measure  to  Burns,  who  first  turned  the  tide, 
which  Scott  afterwards  carried  to  full  flood.  All  that 
Scotland  had  done  and  suffered,  her  romantic  history,  the 
manhood  of  her  people,  the  beauty  of  her  scenery,  would 
have  disappeared  in  modern  commonplace  and  manufact- 
uring ugliness,  if  she  had  been  left  without  her  two  "  sa- 
cred poets." 

.Thirdly.  Burns's  sympathies  and  thoughts  were  not 
confined  to  class  nor  country ;  they  had  something  more 


196  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

catholic  in  them,  they  reached  to  universal  man.  Few  as 
were  his  opportunities  of  knowing  the  characters  of  states- 
men and  politicians,  yet  with  what  "  random  shots  o' 
countra  wit "  did  he  hit  off  the  public  men  of  his  time ! 
In  his  address  to  King  George  III.  on  his  birthday,  how 
gay  yet  caustic  is  the  satire,  how  trenchant  his  stroke ! 
The  elder  and  the  younger  Pitt,  "  yon  ill-tongued  tinkler 
Charlie  Fox,"  as  he  irreverently  calls  him  —  if  Burns  had 
sat  for  years  in  Parliament,  he  could  scarcely  have  known 
them  better.  Every  one  of  the  Scottish  M.P.'s  of  the 
time,  from — 

"That  slee  auld-farran  chiel  Dundas" 


to— 


and — 


That  glib-gabbit  Highland  baron 

The  Laird  o'  Graham," 

Erskine  a  spunkie  Norlan  billie," 


— he  has  touched  their  characters  as  truly  as  if  they  had 
all  been  his  own  familiars.  But  of  his  intuitive  knowledge 
of  men  of  all  ranks  there., is  no  need  to  speak,  for  every 
line  he  writes  attests  it.  M)f  his  fetches  of  moral  wisdom 
something  has  already  been  said.  He  would  not  have 
been  a  Scotchman,  if  he  had  not  been  a  moralizer;  but 
then  his  moralizings  are  not  platitudes,  but  truths  winged 
with  wit  and  wisdom.  He  had,  as  we  have  seen,  his  limi- 
tations— his  bias  to  overvalue  one  order  of  qualities,  and 
to  disparage  others.  Some  pleading  of  his  own  cause  and 
that  of  men  of  his  own  temperament,  some  disparagement 
of  the  severer,  less-impulsive  virtues,  it  is  easy  to  discern 
in  him.  Yet,  allowing  all  this,  what  flashes  of  moral  in- 
sight, piercing  to  the  quick !  what  random  sayings  flung 
forth,  that  have  become  proverbs  in  all  lands — "  mottoes 
of  the  heart !" 


tiii.]  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS.  197 

Such  are — 

"  0  wad  some  Power  the  gif tie  gie  us, 
To  see  oursel  as  ithers  see  us : 
It  wad  frae  inony  a  blunder  free  us, 
An'  foolish  notion ;" 
Or  the  much-quoted — 

"Facts  are  chiels  that  winna  ding 
And  downa  be  disputed ;" 

Or— 

"  The  heart  ay's  the  part  ay 

That  makes  us  right  or  wrang." 

Who  on  the  text,  "He  that  is  without  sin  among  you, 
let  him  first  cast  a  stone,"  ever  preached  such  a  sermon 
as  Burns  in  his  Address  to  the  unco  Guid?  and  in  his 
epistle  of  advice  to  a  young  friend,  what  wisdom  !  what  in- 
cisive aphorisms !  In  passages  like  these  scattered  through- 
out his  writings,  and  in  some  single  poems,  he  has  passed 
beyond  all  bonds  of  place  and  nationality,  and  spoken 
home  to  the  universal  human  heart. 

CA^id  here  we  may  note  that  in  that  awakening  to  the 
sense  of  human  brotherhood,  the  oneness  of  human  nature, 
which  began  towards  the  end  of  last  century,  and  which 
found  utterance  through  Cowper  first  of  the  English  poets, 
there  has  been  no  voice  in  literature,  then  or  since,  which 
has  proclaimed  it  more  tellingly  than  Burns.  And  then 
his  humanity  was  not  confined  to  man,  it  overflowed  to 
his  lower  fellow-creatures.  His  lines  about  the  pet  ewe, 
the  worn-out  mare,  the  field-mouse,  the  wounded  hare, 
have  long  been  household  words.  In  this  tenderness  to- 
wards animals  we  see  another  point  of  likeness  between 
him  and  Cowper. 

Fourthly.  For  all  aspects  of  the  natural  world  he  has 
the  same  clear  eye,  the  same  open  heart  that  he  has  for 
man.     His  love  of  nature  is  intense,  but  very  simple  and 


198  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

direct,  no  subtilizings,  nor  refinings  about  it,  nor  any  of 
that  nature  -  worship  which  soon  after  his  time  came  in. 
Quite  unconsciously,  as  a  child  might,  he  goes  into  the 
outward  world  for  refreshment,  for  enjoyment,  for  sym- 
pathy. Everywhere  in  his  poetry,  nature  comes  in,  not  so 
much  as  a  being  independent  of  man,  but  as  the  back- 
ground of  his  pictures  of  life  and  human  character.  How 
true  his  perceptions  of  her  features  are,  how  pure  and 
transparent  the  feeling  she  awakens  in  him !  Take  only 
two  examples.  Here  is  the  well-known  way  he  describes 
the  burn  in  his  Halloween — 

"  Whyles  owre  a  linn  the  burnie  plays, 
As  thro'  the  glen  it  wimpl't ; 
Whyles  round  a  rocky  scaur  it  strays, 

Whyles  in  a  wiel  it  dimpl't ; 
Whyles  glitter'd  to  the  nightly  rays, 

Wi'  bickerin',  dancin'  dazzle ; 
Whyles  cookit  underneath  the  braes, 
Below  the  spreading  hazel, 

Unseen  that  night." 

Was  ever  burn  so  naturally,  yet  picturesquely  described ! 
The  next  verse  can  hardly  be  omitted — 

"  Amang  the  brachens  on  the  brae, 

Between  her  an'  the  moon, 

The  deil,  or  else  an  outler  quey, 

Gat  up  an'  gae  a  croon : 
Poor  Leezie's  heart  maist  lap  the  hool ; 

Near  lav'rock  height  she  jumpit ; 
But  miss'd  a  fit,  an'  in  the  pool 
Out-owre  the  lugs  she  plumpit, 

Wi'  a  plunge  that  night." 

"Maist  lap  the  hool,"  what  condensation  in  that  Scotch 
phrase  !  The  hool  is  the  pod  of  a  pea — poor  Lizzie's  heart 
almost  leapt  out  of  its  encasing  sheath. 


rm.]  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS.  199 

Or  look  at  this  other  picture : 

"  Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  morn, 
When  Nature's  face  is  fair, 
I  walked  forth  to  view  the  corn, 

And  snuff  the  caller  air. 
The  risin'  sun  owre  Galston  muirs 

Wi'  glorious  light  was  glintin ; 
The  hares  were  hirplin  down  the  furrs, 
The  lav'rocks  they  were  chantin 

Fu'  sweet  that  day." 

I  have  noted  only  some  of  the  excellences  of  Burns's 
poetry,  which  far  outnumber  its  blemishes.  Of  these  last 
it  is  unnecessary  to  speak ;  they  are  too  obvious,  and  what- 
ever is  gross,  readers  can  of  themselves  pass  by. 

Burns's  most  considerable  poems,  as  distinct  from  his 
songs,  were  almost  all  written  before  he  went  to  Edin- 
burgh. There  is,  however,  one  memorable  exception.  Tarn 
o'  Shanter,  as  we  have  seen,  belongs  to  Ellisland  days. 
Most  of  his  earlier  poems  were  entirely  realistic,  a  tran- 
script of  the  men  and  women  and  scenes  he  had  seen  and 
known,  only  lifted  a.  very  little  off  the  earth,  only  very 
slightly  idealized.  But  in  Tarn  o'  Shanter  he  had  let 
loose  his  powers  upon  the  materials  of  past  experiences, 
and  out  of  them  he  shaped  a  tale  which  was  a  pure  imag- 
inative creation.  In  no  other  instance,  except  perhaps  in 
The  Jolly  Beggars,  had  he  done  this ;  and  in  that  cantata, 
if  the  genius  is  equal,  the  materials  are  so  coarse,  and  the 
sentiment  so  gross,  as  to  make  it,  for  all  its  dramatic  pow- 
er, decidedly  offensive.  It  is  strange  what  very  opposite 
judgments  have  been  formed  of  the  intrinsic  merit  of  Tarn, 
d1  Shanter.  Mr.  Carlyle  thinks  that  it  might  have  been 
written  "  all  but  quite  as  well  by  a  man,  who,  in  place  of 
genius,  had  only  possessed  talent ;  that  it  is  not  so  much  a 


200  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

poem,  as  a  piece  of  sparkling  rhetoric ;  the  heart  of  the 
story  still  lies  hard  and  dead."  On  the  other  hand,  Sir 
Walter  Scott  has  recorded  this  verdict :  "  In  the  inimita- 
ble tale  of  Tarn  o'  Shunter,  Burns  has  left  us  sufficient  evi- 
dence of  his  abilities  to  combine  the  ludicrous  with  the 
awful  and  even  the  horrible.  No  poet,  with  the  exception 
of  Shakespeare,  ever  possessed  the  power  of  exciting-  the 
most  varied  and  discordant  emotions  with  such  rapid  tran- 
sitions. His  humorous  description  of  deatb  in  the  poem  on 
Dr.  Hornbrook,  borders  on  the  terrific ;  and  the  witches' 
dance  in  the  Kirk  of  Alloway  is  at  once  ludicrous  and  hor- 
rible." Sir  Walter,  I  believe,  is  right,  and  the  world  has 
sided  with  him  in  his  judgment  about  Turn  o'  Shunter. 
Nowhere  in  British  literature,  out  of  Shakespeare,  is  there 
to  be  found  so  much  of  the  power  of  which  Scott  speaks 
— that  of  combining  in  rapid  transition  almost  contradic- 
tory emotions  —  if  we  except  perhaps  one  of  Scott's  own 
highest  creations,  the  tale  of  Wandering  Willie,  in  Red- 
gauntlet. 

On  the  songs  of  Burns  a  volume  .might  be  written,  but 
a  few  sentences  must  here  suffice.  (^It  is  in  his  songs  that 
his  soul  comes  out  fullest,  freest,  brightest ;  it  is  as  a  song- 
writer that  his  fame  has  spread  widest,  and  will  longest 
last.  Mr.  Carlyle,  not  in  his  essay,  which  does  full  justice 
to  Burns's  songs,  but  in  some  more  recent  work,  has  said 
something  like  this,  "  Our  Scottish  son  of  thunder  had, 
for  want  of  a  better,  to  pour  his  lightning  through  the 
narrow  cranny  of  Scottish  song  —  the  narrowest  cranny 
ever  vouchsafed  to  any  son  of  thunder."  The  narrowest, 
it  may  be,  but  the  most  effective,  if  a  man  desires  to  come 
close  to  his  fellow-men,  soul  to  soul.  Of  all  forms  of  lit- 
erature the  genuine  song  is  the  most  penetrating,  and  the 
most  to  be  remembered ;  and  in  this  kind  Burns  is  the  su- 


tiii.]  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS.  201 

preme  master.  To  make  him  this,  two  things  combined. 
First,  there  was  the  great  background  of  national  melody 
and  antique  verse,  coming  down  to  him  from  remote  ages, 
and  sounding  through  his  heart  from  childhood.  He  was 
cradled  in  a  very  atmosphere  of  melody,  else  he  never 
could  have  sung  so  well.  No  one  knew  better  than  he 
did,  or  would  have  owned  more  feelingly,  how  much  he 
owed  to  the  old  forgotten  song-writers  of  his  country,  dead 
for  ages  before  he  lived,  and  lying  in  their  unknown  graves 
all  Scotland  over.  From  his  boyhood  he  had  studied  ea- 
gerly the  old  tunes,  and  the  old  words  where  there  were 
such,  that  had  come  down  to  him  from  the  past,  treasured 
every  scrap  of  antique  air  and  verse,  conned  and  crooned 
them  over  till  he  had  them  by  heart.  This  was  the  one 
form  of  literature  that  he  had  entirely  mastered.  And 
from  the  first  he  had  laid  it  down  as  a  rule,  that  the  one 
way  to  catch  the  inspiration,  and  rise  to  the  true  fervour 
of  song,  was,  as  he  phrased  it,  "  to  sowth  the  tune  over 
and  over,"  till  the  words  came  spontaneously.  The  words 
of  his  own  songs  were  inspired  by  pre-existing  tunes,  not 
composed  first,  and  set  to  music  afterwards.  But  all  this 
love  and  study  of  the  ancient  songs  and  outward  melody 
would  have  gone  for  nothing,  but  for  the  second  element, 
that  is  the  inward  melody  born  in  the  poet's  deepest  heart, 
which  received  into  itself  the  whole  body  of  national  song ; 
and  then  when  it  had  passed  through  his  soul,  sent  it  forth 
ennobled  and  glorified  by  his  own  genius. 

That  which  fitted  him  to  do  this  was  the  peculiar  inten- 
sity of  his  nature,  the  fervid  heart,  the  trembling  sensibil- 
ity, the  headlong  passion,  all  thrilling  through  an  intellect 
strong  and  keen  beyond  that  of  other  men.  How  myste- 
rious to  reflect  that  the  same  qualities  on  their  emotional 
side  made  him  the  great  songster  of  the  world,  and  on 


202  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

their  practical  side  drove  him  to  ruin  !  The  first  word 
which  Burns  composed  was  a  song  in  praise  of  his  partner 
on  the  harvest-rig ;  the  last  utterance  he  breathed  in  verse 
was  also  a  song — a  faint  remembrance  of  some  former 
affection.  Between  these  two  he  composed  from  two  to 
three  hundred.  It  might  be  wished,  perhaps,  that  he  had 
written  fewer,  especially  fewer  love  songs ;  never  composed 
under  pressure,  and  only  when  his  heart  was  so  full  he 
could  not  help  singing.  This  is  the  condition  on  which 
alone  the  highest  order  of  songs  is  born.  Probably  from 
tibirty  to  forty  songs  of  Burns  could  be  named  which  come 
up  to  this  highest  standard.  No  other  Scottish  song-writ- 
er could  show  above  four  or  five  of  the  same  quality.  Of 
his  songs  one  main  characteristic  is  that  their  subjects,  the 
substance  they  lay  hold  of,  belongs  to  what  is  most  per- 
manent in  humanity,  those  primary  affections,  those  per- 
manent relations  of  life  which  cannot  change  while  man's 
nature  is  what  it  is.  In  this  they  are  wholly  unlike  those 
songs  which  seize  on  the  changing  aspects  of  society.  As 
the  phases  of  social  life  change,  these  are  forgotten.  But 
no  time  can  superannuate  the  subjects  which  Burns  has 
sung;  they  are  rooted  in  the  primary  strata,  which  are 
steadfast.  Then,  as  the  subjects  are  primary,  so  the  feel- 
ing with  which  Burns  regards  them  is  primary  too — that 
is,  he  gives  us  the  first  spontaneous  gush — the  first  throb 
of  his  heart,  and  that  a  most  strong,  simple,  manly  heart. 
The  feeling  is  not  turned  over  in  the  reflective  faculty,  and 
there  artistically  shaped — not  subtilized  and  refined  away 
till  it  has  lost  its  power  and  freshness ;  but  given  at  first 
hand,  as  it  comes  warm  from  within.  When  he  is  at  his 
best,  you  seem  to  hear  the  whole  song  warbling  through 
his  spirit,  naturally  as  a  bird's.  The  whole  subject  is 
wrapped  in  an  element  of  music,  till  it  is  penetrated  and 


viii.]  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS.  203 

transfigured  by  it.  No  one  else  has  so  much  of  the  native 
lilt  in  him.  When  his  mind  was  at  the  white  heat,  it  is 
wonderful  how  quickly  he  struck  off  some  of  his  most  per- 
fect songs.  And  yet  he  could,  when  it  was  required,  go 
back  upon  them,  and  retouch  them  line  by  line,  as  we  saw 
him  doing  in  Ye  Banks  and  Braes.  In  the  best  of  them 
the  outward  form  is  as  perfect  as  the  inward  music  is  all- 
pervading,  and  the  two  are  in  complete  harmony. 

To  mention  a  few  instances  in  which  he  has  given  their 
ultimate  and  consummate  expression  to  fundamental  hu 
man  emotions,  four  songs  may  be  mentioned,  in  each  of 
which  a  different  phase  of  love  has  been  rendered  for  all 

time — 

"  Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw," 

"  Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonnie  Doon," 

"  Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine ;" 

and  that  other,  in  which  the  calm  depth  of  long-wedded 
and  happy  love  utters  itself,  so  blithely  yet  pathetically — 

"  John  Anderson,  my  Jo,  John." 

Then  for  comic  humour  of  courtship,  there  is — 
"  Duncan  Gray  cam  here  to  woo." 

For  that  contented  spirit  which,  while  feeling  life's  trou- 
bles, yet  keeps  "  aye  a  heart  aboon  them  a',"  we  have — 

"  Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  mair." 

For  friendship  rooted  in  the  past,  there  is — 

"  Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot," 

even  if  we  credit  antiquity  with  some  of  the  verses. 

For  wild  and  reckless  daring,  mingled  with  a  dash  of 
O 


204  ROBERT  BURNS.  [chap. 

finer  feeling,  there  is  Macpherson's  Farewell.  For  patri- 
otic heroism — 

"  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled ;" 

and  for  personal  independence,  and  sturdy,  if  self-assert- 
ing, manhood — 

"  A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that." 

These  are  but  a  few  of  the  many  permanent  emotions  to 
which  Burns  has  given  such  consummate  expression,  as 
will  stand  for  all  time. 

In  no  mention  of  his  songs  should  that  be  forgotten 
which  is  so  greatly  to  the  honour  of  Burns.  He  was  em- 
phatically the  purifier  of  Scottish  song.  There  are  some 
poems  he  has  left,  there  are  also  a  few  among  his  songs, 
which  we  could  wish  that  he  had  never  written.  But  we 
who  inherit  Scottish  song  as  he  left  it,  can  hardly  imagine 
how  much  he  did  to  purifv  and  elevate  our  national  melo- 
dies. To  see  what  he  has  done  in  this  way,  we  have  but 
to  compare  Burns's  songs  wvtb  ttie  collection  of  Scottish 
songs  published  by  David  Herd,  in  1769,  a  few  years  be- 
fore Burns  appeared.  A  genuine  poet,  who  knew  well 
what  he  spoke  of,  the  late  Thomas  Aird,  has  said,  "  Those 
old  Scottish  melodies,  sweet  and  strong  though  they  were, 
strong  and  sweet,  were,  all  the  more  for  their  very  strength 
and  sweetness,  a  moral  plague,  from  the  indecent  words 
to  which  many  of  them  had  long  been  set.  How  was  the 
plague  to  be  stayed  *  All  the  preachers  in  the  land  could 
not  divorce  the  grossness  from  the  music.  The  only  way 
was  to  put  something  better  in  its  stead.  This  inestimable 
something  better  Burns  gave  us." 

So  purified  and  ennobled  by  Burns,  these  songs  embody 
human  emotion  in  its  most  condensed  and  sweetest  es- 
sence.    They  appeal  to  all  ranks,  they  touch  all  ages,  they 


Tin.]  CHARACTER,  POEMS,  SONGS.  205 

cheer  toil-worn  men  under  every  clime.  Wherever  the 
English  tongue  is  heard,  beneath  the  suns  of  India,  amid 
African  deserts,  on  the  western  prairies  of  America,  among 
the  squatters  of  Australia,  whenever  men  of  British  blood 
would  give  vent  to  their  deepest,  kindliest,  most  genial 
feelings,  it  is  to  the  songs  of  Burns  they  spontaneously 
turn,  and  find  in  them  at  once  a  perfect  utterance,  and  a 
fresh  tie  of  brotherhood.  It  is  this  which  forms  Burns's 
most  enduring  claim  on  the  world's  gratitude. 


THE    END. 


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